


Strays

by blackash26



Series: Strays Verse [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackash26/pseuds/blackash26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman is very happy with the way that Robin has picked up his training, his methods and his habits. Generally. But his protege showing up at the Batcave with two small children, Tim and Jason, clinging to him proves he's adopted one trait Batman would have rather he hadn't. It seems the batfamily has an incurable penchant for picking up strays, and Tim and Jason are only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for this prompt from the yj-anon-meme, de-anoned and available on this comm with a lot of other fun art and fic by some really amazing people.

When asked, usually by a mystified Superman or a bemused Wonder Woman, Batman would say that it all began with Dick. He would deny any precedent for his ward’s actions and ignore Clark’s dopey smile and Diana’s knowing smirk with all the grace his experience with Gotham’s paparazzi had afforded him.  
  
If Bruce was going to be honest with himself, and he was occasionally honest with himself, if not other people, it really began many years before he met Dick on the fateful night the boy watched his parents fall to their deaths.  
  
It began when an eight year old Bruce Wayne, feeling numb and alone after witnessing the violent death of his parents began sneaking stray and wounded animals into the mansion. Three legged dogs, injured foxes, one eyed cats, sickly squirrels, and birds with broken wings; he bandaged them and fed them and relished in their company as he tried to ignore the gunshots and screams that still reverberated in the back of his head, day and night. But despite his best efforts, his companions were wild animals and while they flourished under his care; his small friends would always eventually disappear.  
  
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make them stay.  
  
It didn’t take a long time for the lonely boy to realize that perhaps he truly was meant to be alone.  
  
Eventually he gave up on companionship altogether and turned his obsessive gaze completely toward studying the art of revenge. The loneliness would be worth it, he thought at the ripe age of ten, if he could finally lay his parents to rest. From there he had walked a solitary path, honing himself into a weapon for justice. And although he ultimately could not get the revenge he sought, he vowed in his parents’ names that no other child would ever suffer as he had. He would make the night safe for the innocent.  
  
Fulfilling his vow required that he sever himself from the world. He did so without regret and after so many years, he had grown used to the emptiness in his heart. He didn’t need anyone, except perhaps Alfred, and that was as it should be. Every night he donned his cape and cowl and did his duty. He had no time for strays.  
  
That was what he told himself.  
  
He even believed it, up until he watched two graceful birds have their wings clipped in midair. He watched the Graysons plummet to their deaths. He could have sworn he heard a gunshot echoing through the circus tent, but when he looked back on the moment, he knew the sound was only in his mind.  
  
The shattered look on Dick Grayson’s face did not exist only in Bruce’s mind. It was a familiar look. Bruce still saw it when he looked in the mirror, most days.  
  
He couldn’t leave the boy to the clutches of CPS. Birds were fragile creatures, Bruce knew from experience. They needed to be handled with care.  
  
And if he saw himself in the boy, well, that was just a coincidence.  
  
“This won’t be like those strays you used to keep in the southern dining room, Master Bruce,” Alfred had told him quietly once the boy was tucked away in a guest room for the night.  
  
Bruce ducked his head slightly, feeling incredibly young under the butler’s gaze. “You knew about that?”  
  
“You thought I didn’t?” Alfred asked dryly, raising a very British eyebrow at his employer.  
  
“How foolish of me,” Bruce said. “You know everything, don’t you Alfred?”  
  
Alfred neatly sidestepped the question. “He isn’t some stray that you will shelter for a few weeks before it grows restless and runs off. He’s a child, Master Bruce. A bit of a long term investment, if you will.”  
  
“I know what – I know  _who_  he is,” Bruce said determinedly. “I know what I’m signing up for. I need to do this Alfred.”  
  
“Very well, Sir.”  
  
Bruce realized very quickly that he hadn’t actually known what he was getting himself into. He didn’t regret it, though. No, he’d never regret it. Because he hadn’t been wrong about one thing. He had needed it. He’d needed Dick Grayson in his life.  
  
So, he didn’t regret the endless visits from CPS, the paperwork, the legal loopholes and hoops he had to jump through in order to make Richard his ward. Nor did he regret enduring the open questioning of his parenting abilities or the vicious rumors about his intentions toward the boy. He certainly didn’t regret the ups and the downs and all the problems caused by his actual lack of child-rearing skills that Alfred luckily made up for in spades. He didn’t regret Dick discovering his secret or eventually helping the boy find his own wings again as Robin, Batman’s partner. He would never regret watching the boy learn and grow and begin to emulate Bruce as best he could.  
  
He didn’t regret any of it not even when his ten year old ward came back from patrol with a tiny dark haired child cradled in his arms and another, larger one at his side, clinging uneasily to the edges of Robin’s cape.  
  
***  
  
“No,” Batman growled before Robin could say a word.  
  
“But, Br– ” Robin began.  
  
“No using our secret identities in the cave,” Batman interrupted sharply. “Or in front of civilians.”  
  
The boy standing behind Robin flinched and ducked behind the brightly clad hero. The other child barely reacted, but the Dark Knight could see just how tightly the boy was clinging to Robin.  
  
Batman shoved aside a rush of guilt. Taking in Robin had been a onetime thing. He was a busy man and he barely had the time and ability to raise Dick. He didn’t know what Robin was thinking, but those boys needed to go home, back to their families.  
  
“Take them home,” Batman said curtly. “The cave isn’t a place for children.”  
  
“But they– ” Robin began.  
  
“We can’t take in every stray– ”  
  
“No one’s asked you to!” came a high pitched shout from behind Robin.  
  
Batman turned narrowed eyes on the child who had the nerve to interrupt him.  
  
“If you don’t want us, we can just go!” the boy said, stepping out from behind Robin and glaring at the caped crusader. It would have been an impressive display if the grubby child wasn’t still clinging to Robin’s cape with one hand. “We were doing just fine by ourselves before Boy Blunder stuck his nose where it wasn’t wanted.”  
  
“By themselves?” Batman repeated slowly, turning his attention back to Robin.  
  
“They’ve got nowhere to go, Batman,” Robin said. “They were living in a box. In Crime Alley.”  
  
Bruce grimaced and took a deep breath. He did not want to have this conversation in front of a bunch of street children. He’d had this conversation with his own father once, a very long time ago. He had been too young to understand it then, but for all that it hurt, it was the truth.  
  
“We can’t save everyone Robin, not like this. It’s the system that needs – ” Batman began patiently.  
  
“I don’t want to save everyone, I want to save  _them._  Bru– ” Robin interjected only for Batman to speak right over him.  
  
“Robin– ” Batman growled warningly.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
A quiet, painfully young voice stopped Batman and Robin’s steadily escalating argument dead in its tracks. The little boy in Robin’s arms was looking up at Bruce with solemn blue eyes.  
  
“ _Please._  Don’t be mad at Dick, Mr. Wayne. It isn’t his fault.”  
  
Batman froze at those words. Pity was one thing, but risking their identities so carelessly? He had taught the boy better than that.  
  
“You  _told_  them-” Batman rumbled.  
  
“Shut up!” the first child shouted, drawing Batman’s ire away from Robin and the smaller boy. “Listen to what he fucking said, you asshole. It isn’t Robin’s fault.”  
  
“Language,” Bruce corrected automatically, his anger momentarily defused by the boy’s foul mouth, and then completely defused by the actual content of the boy’s words.  
  
“Oh, that’s rich,” the boy said mockingly. “I’ll fucking say whatever the fuck I want you– ”  
  
“Jason,” the second boy said before Batman could get a word in edgewise. “You’re not helping. He’s justified in being angry. We don’t belong here.”  
  
“Of course you be– ” Robin started.  
  
“Oh, boo hoo, he’s all angry, but Robin didn’t tell us jack,” the first child, Jason, apparently, spoke over Batman’s partner.  
  
“So not helping your case squirt,” Robin scolded lightly, completely unbothered at being steamrolled by the younger boy.  
  
Batman frowned. If Robin hadn’t told them, then how…  
  
“Robin, tell me exactly what happened tonight,” he commanded.  
  
“Bruce, look,” the boy wonder said, shifting his hold on the smaller boy. “I’ll tell you everything, but these two, and me, really, we’ve had a long night and it’s kind of a long story…so, why don’t I go get them cleaned up and find a bed for them and then I’ll give you my full report.”  
  
Batman thought that was a horrible idea. Bruce, on the other hand, couldn’t quite say no to the earnest expression on his ward’s face as he clutched the tiny child his arms.  
  
Batman glowered at the three children before him. “…Have Alfred look after them,” he said finally. “They can stay the night.  _Only_  the night,” he added with a grimace at how hopeful all three children suddenly looked. “Then report to my office.  _Immediately,_  Robin. Understood?” he ordered, doing his best to salvage his dignity.  
  
“You betcha, Boss,” his ward said brightly, almost dismissively. He practically floated to the cave exit, trailing Jason who was still clutching Robin’s cape like a lifeline and holding the other boy tightly in his arms, whispering conspiratorially as he went, “Tim-Tim, you know who Alfred is, right? Don’t be shy! He’ll adore you. He keeps us all sane and makes the most asterous cookies.”  
  
“Asterous?” Jason asked skeptically.  
  
“Totally,” Dick agreed as their voices faded into the distance. “Just wait till you taste them!”  
  
Bruce sighed tiredly and attempted to steel himself for his imminent confrontation with his ward. He knew what Dick was going to ask him. He needed to say no. The issue of their secret identities aside, those boys did not belong in his dark world.  _Dick_  barely belonged there as it was. If he was more responsible he would even send Dick away. But he wasn’t strong enough for that. These days he didn’t know what he’d do without his Robin to brighten his life.  
  
Those children, on the other hand…  
  
He would deal with the leak of his and Robin’s identities and then he would see to it that the boys were placed somewhere nice. Dick would appreciate that. He would let them stay the night and then Bruce would have them sent somewhere safe and happy and far away from the shadow of Gotham.  
  
Yes, that was what he would do.  
  
***  
  
Except that wasn’t quite what happened.  
  
***  
  
“They saved my life, Bruce,” Dick explained seriously a short time later in Bruce’s study. “They risked their lives to distract Clayface, who we need to go after tomorrow night, by the way, and gave me enough time to get us out of there.”  
  
“Clayface?” Bruce questioned, but decided to set that concern aside until he had handled the matter at hand. “What were those kids doing anywhere near a crime scene?” he demanded. Street children, especially the young ones, generally knew to steer clear of Gotham’s criminal element. The ones that didn’t…well, despite everything Batman did, they tended not to survive very long.  
  
“They were…following me,” Dick said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Tim, that’s the little one, he knew me. I mean, I’ve met him before.”  
  
Bruce blinked in surprise.  
  
Dick suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t exactly remember very well, considering everything that happened that night. But he was there, Bruce. The night my parents died. He watched them fall.”  
  
“That doesn’t – ” Bruce began only to be interrupted by his ward.  
  
“He was only like three years old, but I did my quadruple somersault for him and he saw me do it again a few weeks ago – only  _Robin,_  was the one doing the flip. He knew that only three people in the world could do that move and from there it wasn’t a huge leap for him to figure out that Robin and I were the same person. And from there he determined that Bruce Wayne had to be Batman. He did this all on his own, apparently, so don’t freak out. Besides, as far as I can tell he’s not exactly a blabbermouth and he didn’t even seem happy that Jason knew, so they’re probably the only ones who – ”  
  
That in itself was very good to know and greatly appeased a few of Batman’s more pressing concerns over the state of their secret identities. However, the information also raised far more questions than it actually answered. “Wait,” Bruce said, stopping Dick in his tracks. “What was a street child doing at a circus in the first place?”  
  
“I – I don’t know,” the boy said. “I guess we’ll just have to ask.” He smiled cheekily up at Bruce.  
  
The man sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night; he could already feel the migraine that this whole mess was going to cause him. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow. For now, tell me what was Clayface up to?”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Bruce entered the kitchen to the rather baffling sight of the smaller of Dick’s strays standing on a chair, quietly and efficiently frying eggs on the stove. Before Bruce could say anything, Alfred, looking as though he’d run across the entire mansion, charged into the room. The butler took in the situation and then with the unruffled efficiency that characterized everything he did, Alfred carefully turned off the stove and removed the spatula from the boy’s hands.  
  
“Master Timothy, I appreciate the help. But if you were hungry all you had to do was ask.”  
  
The boy blinked up at the butler in silent confusion.  
  
“I’m not supposed to ask for things,” Tim said finally when he realized that Alfred actually wanted a response.  
  
Alfred and Bruce frowned in unison. “Who told you that?” Bruce asked, doing his best to not let Batman slip into his voice. No sense in scaring the child.  
  
“No one told me,” the boy said. “But it’s the most important rule. Everything costs something.”  
  
“Is that so, Master Timothy?” Alfred asked, his face completely unreadable. “And how much exactly would it cost to ask for help with breakfast?”  
  
The boy shrugged and looked intently down at the congealing mess in the frying pan instead of at Alfred. “They always leave,” he said softly. “When I ask for things,” he clarified after a moment. “I, I thought if I was good and didn’t bother anyone I could stay a little longer. I’m sorry. I won’t be difficult. I’ll go.”  
  
Tim made to clamber down from the chair. Bruce was standing in front of the boy almost before he realized his body was moving. The child froze and stared blankly up at him. Bruce placed a tentative hand on the boy’s shoulder and the boy looked startled by the contact, but after a moment he leaned ever so slightly into Bruce’s touch.  
  
“Who leaves, Tim?” Bruce asked as unthreateningly as he could.  
  
“My parents,” the child answered simply.  
  
Bruce grimaced. “Are your parents still alive, Tim?”  
  
The boy cocked his head to the side. “Of course, why wouldn’t they be?”  
  
Bruce’s expression darkened slightly despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral countenance. “Where are your parents? Why aren’t you with them?”  
“They’re in Brazil on a dig,” the boy answered. “Children are too young to properly appreciate travel, so I’m supposed to stay home.”  
  
“Tim, Dick said you and Jason were living in Crime Alley,” Bruce prompted. “He said you were sleeping in a box.”  
  
“We are,” Tim replied as though this was the most normal thing in the world.  
  
Bruce resisted the urge to growl in frustration at how difficult it was to pull answers out of the reticent child. It wouldn’t do to frighten the poor boy. “Why were you living in a box?” he asked instead.  
  
“It’s Jason’s. He let me share it with him after he found me. He didn’t even go away afterward.”  
  
“Jason found you,” Bruce repeated. “Where were you before that?”  
  
Tim went quite still, his whole body tense with fear. Bruce realized then that he had asked the wrong question. He’d be lucky to get another word out of the boy now.  
  
“Master Bruce,” Alfred cut in mildly. “I think that perhaps you should go see that young Master Jason has not gotten himself into any trouble this morning. I’ll see to it that young Master Timothy eats a hardy breakfast. Growing boys need to eat quite a bit, as I’m sure you remember. By the way, how old are you, Master Timothy?”  
  
Bruce watched as Alfred worked his magic. Helping the boy down from the chair and over to the kitchen counter as he spoke.  
  
“I’m Five,” Tim answered after a prolonged silence during which he watched Alfred bustle around the kitchen.  
  
Alfred visibly paused in his routine for a moment before determinedly carrying on. Bruce could understand the older man’s surprise and barely visible concern. Tim looked far too small to be five years old. Then again, the boy also seemed far too intelligent to only be five. He thought back to the boy’s words. What were the boy’s parent’s doing in Brazil of all places? Better yet, what was a boy whose parents were on an  _archeological dig_  doing living in Crime Alley?  
  
Before Bruce could ask any more questions, Alfred was quietly but firmly ushering him out the door. Bruce went along easily enough. He was too angry to continue speaking to the child. And Alfred was better at this sort of thing than he was anyway. If anyone could get answers from Tim, it would be the Wayne Family Butler. In the meantime, perhaps he would take Alfred’s advice and speak to Jason. He might actually be able to get a coherent story out of the older boy.  
  
***  
  
When Bruce finally tracked Jason down (which took far longer than it should have, considering how subtle the boy wasn’t), he found the boy surreptitiously lining his pockets with small, but extremely valuable trinkets in one of the more out of the way sitting rooms.  
  
“It’s quite a gaudy little thing, isn’t it?” he said casually and enjoyed watching the clearly startled child attempt to pretend that he’d known the billionaire was there the whole time.  
  
Bruce allowed himself a small smile and continued speaking as though the boy wasn’t trying to steal precious, if garish heirlooms. “I don’t know what my great grandmother was thinking when she bought it, but you must admit it’s unique.”  
  
Jason scowled. “Someone should a put a fucking bell on you,” he snapped and the bauble promptly vanished from sight.  
  
Bruce’s smile widened and became something a bit more battish. “Mm, unfortunately that would be counterproductive to certain late night activities of mine.”  
  
The child grimaced at the reminder of just who he was daring to steal from, but held his ground. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stubbornly.  
  
“Of course not,” Bruce said. “And we can forget this ever happened. Just return all thirteen of those awful little trinkets.”  
  
Jason clenched his hands into fists and shifted into something like a defensive position. “It was just the one,” he snapped. “Besides, it’s not like  _you_  need them.  _We_ do.”  
  
“We?” Bruce asked.  
  
“The kid and I,” Jason elaborated reluctantly. “I’ve got to take care of him. Since it’s only a matter of time before you kick us out, no matter what Robin says, I’ve got to be able to make some money.”  
  
“So you decided to steal priceless Wayne family heirlooms,” Bruce said. “From under the nose of Batman, himself,” he added after a moment for effect.  
  
The boy rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’d say where I got them,” Jason snapped. “These were only plan B, anyway.”  
  
“And plan A?” Bruce asked, curious despite himself.  
  
Jason hesitated for a moment, but seemed to decide to go for broke now that he was caught anyway. “Well, I  _was_  gonna take the wheels off one of those sweet rides of yours. You’ve got so many no one’d even notice till we were long gone, but it’s not like I’ve got anywhere to hide something that big when you kick us out, so I figured I’d go for something more travel sized,” the boy explained with a defiant sense of pride that was strangely endearing in the way of a small, but extremely feral puppy.  
  
Batman unwilling found himself impressed at the boy’s audacity. He bit back on a smile and attempted to look intimidating. “How…practical of you,” Bruce said. “Now, please return my property.”  
  
The boy glowered, but eventually the billionaire got Jason to empty his pockets. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the child, though. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the boy’s sticky fingers would be back in action the moment his back was turned.  
  
***  
  
“How long have you been taking care of Tim?” Bruce asked as casually as he could as he frog marched the boy out of the sitting room.  
  
Jason looked up at him suspiciously. “He’s my brother,” the boy said as if that explained everything.  
  
It didn’t. The little street urchin was obviously lying, though he did a decent job of it. Someone who wasn’t trained to spot such things might have fallen for it. “Don’t lie to me,” Bruce said mildly. “I just want – ”  
  
The boy tensed and tried to shrug out of Bruce’s hold on him. “Let me go you bastard,” he snarled, flailing his arms and legs. “You keep your hands off my brother, you hear me? Batman or no, you touch my brother and I’ll kill you!”  
  
Bruce inhaled sharply at the implication in those words and tightened his hold on the boy’s shoulders.  
  
“Jason, has anyone ever touched you inappropriately?” he asked slowly, biting back on the anger swelling in his heart. Unfortunately, righteous fury would not help him now. In fact, allowing that emotion to run rampant could easily make the situation worse.  
  
Jason froze and then forced himself to relax. “I don’t know what that means,” he said after a moment.  
  
“Has someone ever touched you in a way that made you uncomfortable?” Bruce elaborated.  
  
Jason snorted. “You mean like you’re doing now?” the boy said meaningfully, with false bravado.  
  
Bruce immediately let go of the child’s shoulders and was surprised when the boy didn’t make a run for it the second he was freed. Instead, the child was looking up at him with a considering expression on his very young face.  
  
“…No,” Jason said, catching Bruce off guard. “But I’ve heard about Bad Touch from the others. And…well, my mom’s last boyfriend, he, um, looked at me funny sometimes when he was really trashed.”  
  
Bruce nodded and pushed aside his anger, though once he had Jason’s last name, Batman had plans for the mother’s ex-boyfriend. There was a special corner of hell reserved for people who hurt children. And Batman liked to help them on their way there. “I’m not interested in that sort of thing,” he assured the boy. “Neither is Alfred. Though of course you have no reason to believe me.”  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re not supposed to  _admit_  that,” the boy corrected scathingly. “You’re a terrible predator.” Jason paused and considered his statement. “Well, or maybe you’re a really good one.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you or your brother,” Bruce said. Repetition might help the boy trust the people trying to help him. Probably not much, but it was worth a try.  
  
“Yeah. Sure you don’t,” Jason said.  
  
“Time will tell,” Bruce said mildly. “In the meantime, how long have you been taking care of Tim? You may consider him your brother now, but despite superficial similarities you are not related by blood.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Jason said.  
  
“No. It does matter,” Bruce insisted. “Tim has a family.”  
  
Jason had not expected that. “Family? What family? He was wandering around Crime Alley looking like he’d walked through a meat grinder. People don’t live through that sort of shit.”  
  
“Language,” Bruce chided automatically. “And that’s what I wanted to find out about. What did he look like when you met him?”  
  
“He looked stupid,” Jason said.  
  
“Tim is hardly stupid,” Bruce said.  
  
“He’s got a giant brain,” Jason agreed. “But he was walking around the worst part of town dressed like some kind of princeling.”  
  
Bruce blinked. “Princeling?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “The clothes he was wearing cost enough to pay bribes and keep our stomachs full for almost three weeks.”  
  
“You sold his clothing?” Bruce asked as he tried to piece the two boys’ stories together.  
  
“Duh. He stuck out like a sore thumb like that. Besides, he didn’t seem to care all that much. Not that the kid complains about anything. He’s weird like that. But I found him some stuff in the Salvation Army bin that fit okay-ish and fed him and he stopped looking so scary after a while.”  
  
“What do you mean, scary?”  
  
Jason frowned and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Well, he was even paler than he usually is. And sweaty. Really sweaty, but his lips were blue like he was really cold. And, um, he seemed really confused. He got better, though.”  
  
Bruce closed his eyes. Shock. Those were symptoms of shock. Tim had very likely been in shock. What the hell had happened to the boy before Jason found him?  
  
“That’s good,” Bruce said. “That was very brave of you,” he added awkwardly after a few seconds.  
  
Jason snorted. “No it wasn’t. It was a stupid thing to do. Cause I couldn’t take him home with me, which wasn’t really bad, cause I’d already mostly decided to stay clear of there. But he’s deadweight and helpless on the streets. And I gotta watch him all the time because he does stupid things if I’m not around, or even when I’m around and I gotta protect him from creepers like  _you._ ”  
  
“And yet you took him in anyway,” Bruce prompted curiously.  
  
“Well, yeah,” Jason said. “It was stupid, but it was still  _right_.”  
  
Bruce’s heart melted just a little at those words. “Yes. You did the right thing, Jason.”  
  
“I know that,” the boy snapped. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” But despite what he said, Jason couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling at the praise.  
  
“Stealing aside, clearly you don’t,” Bruce agreed peaceably.  
  
“A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do to take care of his family,” Jason said unrepentantly.  
  
Despite himself, Bruce found himself smiling the genuine smile that only Dick could ever coax out of him. “Yes,” Bruce said, “he does.”  
  
***  
  
Bruce remembered then that they were still standing in the middle of the hallway. He considered the situation briefly before leading Jason to his personal study. Bruce sat down at the desk and gestured for Jason to sit across from him. The boy did as he was asked, but not before giving the room a once over that Batman approved of even though the boy was probably eyeing the small valuables scattered about rather than cataloguing possible exits and potential threats.  
  
“How long ago did you meet Tim?” Bruce asked.  
  
“A couple of weeks ago,” Jason said.  
  
“Can you be more exact than that?” Bruce pressed.  
  
“A little over three weeks,” Jason admitted.  
  
Bruce nodded. “And did he know the identities of Batman and Robin before then?”  
  
Jason said nothing.  
  
Bruce sighed. “I’m not mad at him, Jason. I won’t hurt him, either. I just need to know.”  
  
The boy hesitated, but finally shook his head.  
  
That was interesting. “And when did he find out? Were you there?”  
  
“Yeah I was there,” Jason said. “It was the scariest thing ever.”  
  
“Was it?”  
  
Jason nodded. “Worse than anything my Mom’s boyfriends ever did. Fucking kid. He was there one moment and the next he wasn’t anywhere. I thought for sure someone had nabbed him and  _raped_  him and slit his throat like Max said some of the crazies do to little kids. And I ran around like an idiot looking for him, and finally found him down by this shitty ass building, where that fucking plant lady and you two were having some big show down.”  
  
Poison Ivy. Bruce remembered that fight, twenty nights previous. It had been brutal.  
  
“The little twerp was hiding in the shadows so good I almost didn’t see him at all. I dragged him right out of there and smacked him one for scaring the crap out of me like that, but he didn’t even notice. He kept blabbering about ‘that move, he did that move,’ or something and then he said ‘Dick Grayson is Robin’. He calmed down pretty quick after that and then he panicked all over again about me hearing all that and while he was begging me not tell anyone he figured out who  _you_  were, and, um, that’s how that went down. Little shithead. Still can’t believe he ran off like that,” Jason finished with an angry grumble.  
  
“Did either of you tell anyone about Tim’s discovery?” Bruce asked. He couldn’t let himself be sidetracked from the main point of this interview.  
  
“The kid wouldn’t stand for it,” Jason said with a shrug. “Besides, who would believe  _Bruce Wayne_  was Batman? Get real.”  
  
Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. The situation was contained. That was ridiculously good news.  
  
“What happened last night?” Bruce asked. He wanted to hear more than Robin’s side of the story. Dick wouldn’t lie on purpose, but Bruce wouldn’t put it past his ward to twist the situation in his strays’ favor. Dick had a good heart like that, even though he was soundly benched for the next month while Bruce upped his training and drove home the lesson of why good little Robins should not go above and beyond mission parameters without Batman’s express permission. So much for a light end-of-the-night patrol.  
  
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Jason said defensively. “I’m not  _stupid,_  even if the kid doesn’t have a bit sense in his useless ginormous brain. We were taking a shortcut around a gang fight, when he spotted Robin flying over our heads. I don’t even know how he spotted that, but being the kid, he started chasing after him. Moron. We didn’t get too far, though, before we lost him and kinda stumbled on some kinda handoff thing. At least that’s what it looked like, anyway. Guys with guns and stuff, you know?  
  
“We woulda been dead and rotting in Gotham Bay for sure if Robin hadn’t swooped down. It was awesome. But there were way too many of them and he was having some trouble,” Jason explained while he illustrated the battle with some rather creative handgestures. “We totally shoulda made a run for it, but Robin’s important. Or that’s what the kid says, anyway. So I couldn’t just let him get shot up over a good-for-nothing like me.”  
  
“You’re not a good-for-nothing,” Bruce said before he even registered what he was saying.  
  
Jason looked amused. “You don’t have to lie. I know what I am. The only good thing I got going for me is the kid.” Bruce wanted to argue the point, but Jason was continuing his story and he had to let the moment pass. “Anyway, I pushed the kid out of sight and then I threw myself in there. I kicked some shins and made enough noise to give Robin the upper hand back. The kid even threw some rocks, I think, even though he shoulda kept his fucking head down like I  _told_  him to.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“Robin coulda probably taken them, but one of the guys got my back pretty bad and Robin just kind of grabbed the two of us up and made a run for it since he couldn’t fly with us both. They chased us for a while, and almost caught up once. I told Robin to take the kid and go, but he wouldn’t listen and…well, we lost them eventually.  
  
“Robin insisted on taking us home, even though I coulda gotten us there just fine. He completely flipped out when he saw where we’re staying. I don’t really know why – ”  
  
“I suspect it may have the location,” Bruce interrupted dryly. “Or perhaps it was the fact that you were living in a box.”  
  
“Hey!” Jason protested. “It’s a  _nice_  box. I worked my ass off to get that thing and make it all homey for the kid. It even keeps out the wind pretty good and everything.”  
  
Bruce said nothing and the boy stuck out his tongue.  
  
“ _Anyway,_ ” Jason drawled, “Robin flipped his shit and got Tim all worked up and then the kid let slip that he  _knew_  and the next thing I knew Dickface was dragging us back to that cave you keep in the fucking basement. That’s all – happy now?”  
  
“Yes, thank you Jason,” Bruce said as he processed the story, committing to memory everything that was and wasn’t said. The story matched up fairly well with Robin’s, though Dick hadn’t mentioned Jason trying to use himself as bait. That was –  
  
That wasn’t his problem, Bruce reminded himself firmly. He still had many questions about what exactly had happened to both Tim and Jason, but he had gotten far more out of the boy than he had hoped after his failed discussion with Tim. Now he needed to back off.  
  
“Have you eaten yet?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Not hungry,” Jason said. His stomach took that moment to growl loudly in disagreement.  
  
Bruce smiled and got to his feet. “Of course you’re not,” he agreed. “However, I am quite famished and I’d dearly like the company on the way to kitchen, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”  
  
Jason blinked and then snorted after he had processed the request. “No, it won’t be any trouble,” he said sarcastically.  
  
“Excellent. I suspect there will be pancakes,” Bruce added as he led the boy out of the study.  
  
At the thought of fluffy golden pancakes, Jason betrayed himself with an excited grin more befitting someone his age and hurried to catch up with Bruce.  
  
***  
  
There were indeed pancakes.  
  
There was also an exuberant Dick, happily making up for Tim’s silence with cheerful chatter about nothing in particular. The smaller boy didn’t seem to mind. He was clearly content to look up at Dick with adoring eyes. The child was definitely a fan. He would have to be, Bruce knew, to still remember a flip Dick had done when Tim was  _three,_  two year after the fact.  
  
Bruce glanced over his shoulder in surprise as he heard Jason snort in derision from somewhere behind him. Then he watched as the little thief stalked past him and into the room, claimed the open chair next to Tim’s and pointedly slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders, hauling the child away from Dick.  
  
“Jason,” Tim said softly, a small smile creeping onto his face. “You didn’t leave.”  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. “Duh, I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I, kid?”  
  
Tim bit his lip and nodded tentatively. “I know. But…you came back.”  
  
The pickpockets sighed and pulled Tim into a quick hug. “Yeah, I did. We’re brothers, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Tim agreed.  
  
“Well brothers stick together. So I’m not going anywhere, got it?”  
  
The smaller boy just looked at him and Bruce felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he realized that while Jason meant every word, Tim didn’t actually believe the older boy’s promise.  
  
“He’s right, you know,” Dick said casually, earning a glare from Jason and another awed glance from the smallest of the boys.  
  
“Of course I am,” Jason snapped. “Don’t need you or your stupid creepy Dadbat to know that.”  
  
Dick gave the other boy a weird look but shook off the confusion with his characteristic ease. “Sure thing, Jaybird,” the acrobat said slyly. “But I bet you don’t want any yummy  _pan~cakes._ ”  
  
The street urchin spluttered. “Don’t call me that!” he insisted before the rest of Dick’s teasing caught up with him. “Hey! I do so want some.”  
  
“Then eat up,  _Jaybird,_ ” Dick teased as he pushed a plate laden with pancakes toward the younger boy. “You too, Babybird,” Dick added, pausing to ruffle Tim’s hair. “You’re too tiny. We have to fatten you up!”  
  
“Oy! Don’t you pressure my brother, Dickface,” Jason snapped. But even as he spoke he was dragging another pancake onto Tim’s plate. Only once Tim’s plate was full did he take a rather sizable amount for himself.  
  
Tim ducked his head shyly at all the attention the older boys were heaping on him, but despite his obvious embarrassment, Bruce could see the disbelieving happiness in the smallest boy’s eyes. It was the expression of someone who was convinced he was dreaming and was terrified of waking up.  
  
The boy was so fragile…  
  
The mystery of Tim’s circumstance tugged again at Bruce’s mind and the detective in him automatically sought out Alfred.  
  
The butler was making another batch of perfect golden pancakes at the stove, but the man was in pure British mode: polite and industrious with a carefully blank expression held firmly in place. Alfred was working very hard to disguise whatever he was thinking or feeling, but Bruce had known the man since childhood. The complete absence of expression was always the only indicator that something was bothering the man who had raised him.  
  
Bruce had to suppress the impulse to drag Alfred out of the room and demand answers immediately. He knew Alfred would not appreciate being pulled from his work and that such sudden behavior would probably upset the children. It would be best to avoid them making a scene as long as possible, he decided.  
  
So he walked over to the table and sat down across from the boys and waited patiently for the newest batch of pancakes to come out of the pan. He hadn’t had any breakfast yet either, after all.  
  
“Morning Bruce!” Dick greeted happily before turning attentively back to his strays.  
  
“Good Morning Dick,” Bruce replied, even though he knew the boy had already stopped paying attention to him. “Enjoying breakfast, Tim?” he asked.  
  
Tim blinked up at him from between the bickering older boys. Once again he looked completely unsure of how to respond, but he managed a shy smile and said softly, “It’s very good, sir. Thank you. I, uh, sorry...”  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Bruce said matter-of-factly, though he wasn’t quite sure what the child was attempting to apologize for.  
  
The boy looked like he was about to say something, but anything Tim might have said was cut off by Jason’s sudden exclamation of “Quit calling me that, you, you _Bigbird!_  Where do you get off calling me a bird name, huh? It’s stupid. Anyway, I’d totally be something cooler, like a wolf or a lion or something. You know, something that  _eats_  birds like you instead of the other way around.”  
  
Dick rolled his eyes. “Boring. Besides, wouldn’t you rather be  _under_ estimated, emphasis on the ‘under’? That’s how little guys like us can take out big guys like Clayface.” Dick cast a surreptitious glance at Bruce, which the billionaire gamely pretended not to notice, before continuing. “And hey, we’ve got a theme going here, Jaybird. You can’t ignore something like that.”  
  
Jason looked deeply unimpressed. “It’s a stupid theme,” he said, stabbing his pancake with his knife like he wished it was Dick’s face.  
  
Dick melodramatically clutched at his heart. “Low blow, Jaybird,” he accused with a pout, before jumping gleefully right back into the argument. “But come on! It’s not like you get to pick your own nickname. Someone’s got to give it to you or it isn’t a  _real_  nickname. That’s how nicknames work.”  
  
“That’s stupid. And you’re stupid too, Dickface,” Jason snapped.  
  
“I like birds,” Tim said quietly, diffusing the…conversation before it could escalate further.  
  
“Of course you do, TimTim. You’re our adorable Babybird,” Dick cooed, pulling Tim half out of his chair and half onto Dick’s as he hugged the boy tightly. Tim squeaked and blushed.  
  
“Dick, what are you doing?” the boy asked, but didn’t fight the hold.  
  
“Hugging you!” the aerialist responded merrily.  
  
Jason, for lack of a better word, pouted at this development. “You’ve corrupted him,” he accused and set about trying to free Tim from the acrobat’s clutches.  
  
Dick grinned maniacally and held on tighter. “What, to the side of light and justice?”  
  
“Ugh,” Jason groaned and glared at the older boy. “No, to the side of  _stupid_  – ”  
  
“Birds are really neat, Jason,” Tim interrupted almost desperately. Then he began speaking rapidly, almost tripping over his words in his haste, all the while begging Jason to stop fighting with Dick with his eyes. “Robins are my favorite, but I also like Blue Jays. Um, you’d like those; at least I think you would. Maybe. They’re small, so they’re still easy prey, but they’re brave enough to sometimes chase away hawks and other big predators.  
  
“And, and they’re super territorial and protective of their nests and families, but they warn all the other birds when there’s a predator coming. It makes me think of you a little, when you drove off those bullies who were a lot bigger than you and kept them away from me and those other kids, which makes Blue Jays even more awesome, doesn’t it? Oh, and they can survive just about anywhere, even if all the trees get cut down ‘cause they’re very adaptable. They’re really, really clever, too, and when people put them in cages they try to figure out how to undo the locks like a person might. And um, I guess you really didn’t want to know any of that…Sorry.” He trailed off weakly once he realized Dick and Jason were no longer arguing and were actually paying attention to him.  
  
“Oh, no, never knew I was so clever, really,” Dick said with a smirk, shooting another poorly disguised glance at Bruce.  
  
Jason gave the older boy a weird look. “Whatever you say Dickface.” Then to Tim he said, “Anything you want to say I want to hear, hear me? You don’t talk at all anyway, so you shouldn’t feel bad when you do. And those birds actually sound kinda badass.” Jason looked thoughtful for a moment. “But I gotta ask how’d you know all that, Babybird? Damn it, now you’ve got me doing it, Bigbird,” Jason groused.  
  
Dick grinned triumphantly and Tim blushed. “I watched a documentary about it,” Tim explained after a moment’s hesitation.  
  
“A what?” Jason asked.  
  
“You watch those? But they’re so boring.” Dick groaned.  
  
Tim’s face fell. “I’m sorry…” he began, but Dick was quick enough to catch the mood shift and put a stop to the rambling apology for liking documentaries that Bruce suspected was coming.  
  
“Hey, hey, don’t be sorry Babybird,” Dick said soothingly, pulling Tim back into a proper hug. “No sorry-ness allowed here. No sir, not at all. You hear me?”  
  
“I guess…” Tim said doubtfully, his voice quieter than ever.  
  
“Hey, what’s a doco- docermen- uh, that thing you said,” Jason asked, surveying the scene before him with a confused expression on his face.  
  
Dick smiled gratefully at the other boy, probably thankful for the distraction. “Well, go on,” Dick said encouragingly. “Tell him, Babybird.”  
  
“Um, okay,” Tim said nervously. “It’s, ah, like a movie but they’re only supposed to have true things in them and they teach you really cool things like how animals hunt for food and how soldiers fought in the first century Roman Empire!”  
  
“Uh…” Jason said, not sure how else to respond to that.  
  
“Yeah,” Dick agreed.  
  
And the two shared a smile for a moment before Jason realized he was smiling at the enemy, stuck out his tongue, and turned back to Tim.  
  
“Heh. You’re such a dork, kid,” he said fondly.  
  
“Sorry,” Tim apologized immediately.  
  
“What? Hey, it’s not a bad thing,” Jason assured the younger boy. “Besides, you heard Dickface. No sorry allowed. Take it back.”  
  
“But I already said it,” Tim said.  
  
“So? Take it back,” Jason insisted.  
  
“That’s physically impossible, Jason.” Tim pouted.  
  
“Don’t care. Take it back or I’ll be forced to take extreme action,” Jason threatened.  
  
“But Jason…” Tim attempted to reason with the thief child, but Jason had no interest in logic.  
  
“That’s it!” Jason declared.  
  
With that, Jason clambered over onto Tim’s mostly vacant seat and began tickling him. Dick caught on quickly and tightened his lose hug to hold Tim in place as both boys mercilessly sought out and attacked Tim’s weak spots until the boy was laughing like crazy and gasping for breath.  
  
Bruce caught himself smiling at the effective use of teamwork the boys were showcasing and firmly cast the thought aside.  
  
Meanwhile, Tim was quickly becoming overwhelmed by Dick and Jason’s tactical strike tickle attack. “Kay, o-kay,” he gasped out between helpless peals of laughter. “Not, ah, not sorry. Not, ha, sorry. Stop it, guys! Please.”  
  
“Have mercy, boys,” Bruce found himself cutting in dryly. And the boys stopped their assault with identical pouts on their faces. “He’s clearly no longer sorry.”  
  
“He’s faking,” Dick said. “I can tell. He’ll be saying sorry all over the place again before you know it. But don’t worry; we’ll tickle it out of him yet for sure.”  
  
“No roughhousing at the table, young Masters,” Alfred said with mild disapproval, carrying over the last plate of pancakes and setting it before Bruce.  
  
“Right, right. My bad.” Dick deflated slightly. “We’ll take this elsewhere, Alfred.”  
  
The acrobat’s subdued attitude lasted all of five seconds before the boy was grinning down at his little strays. Dick scooped a still giggling Tim up in his arms and practically skipped toward the door. Jason cursed, scrambled down from his chair and ran to catch up with the taller boy, calling angrily, “Stop carrying him, Dickface. He can walk.”  
  
“But he’s just so cute and travel sized!” Dick exclaimed, pausing long enough to let Jason catch up. “You just wish you were big enough to do it yourself.”  
  
Jason scowled. “Yeah, well, he’s small enough I could carry him myself if I wanted to. Give him here and I’ll prove it.”  
  
“No, no. It’s my turn to hold him,” Dick insisted.  
  
“I’m not that little,” Tim protested; his face scrunched adorably in frustration.  
  
Jason and Dick shared an amused glance and then in unison chorused, “Yes you are!”  
  
The smallest boy pouted and the boys continued squabbling as they disappeared out of sight. Bruce listened to their childish taunts and laughter until they were finally out of hearing distance too.


	3. Chapter 3

Once the boys were safely out of earshot, Bruce tucked away his amusement at the children’s antics and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He couldn’t get attached to them, he reminded himself firmly. They weren’t his to keep and no playfully worded hints from Dick would change that.  
  
“What did you find out, Alfred?” he asked seriously.  
  
The butler smiled tightly. “You should eat your breakfast first, Master Bruce. I suspect it will get cold before we finish our discussion.”  
  
Bruce bit back on his annoyance at being told what to do like he was still a child himself. He knew better than to be petulant in the face of Alfred’s mother-hen tendencies. Then man would have no problem withholding information for as long as he deemed necessary in order to see that his charges were properly cared for. It was an invaluable trait that was only occasionally this exasperating. But the questions were burning in his mind. He needed –  
  
The Billionaire sighed. He considered that he might be getting a little overinvested in this case and cast Alfred a rueful smile as he pointedly put a bite of pancake in his mouth.  
  
Alfred nodded approvingly and quietly collected the boys’ dishes. He cleaned them with his usual tidy efficiency and put them away as Bruce finished his meal.  
  
Once he was done Bruce brought his own plate up to the sink. He washed it himself despite Alfred’s protests because he felt like it, not because he was feeling petty.  
  
Alfred just raised a very British eyebrow at him.  
  
Bruce suspected the man was silently laughing at him and knew that this was one area of his life in which he could never win.  
  
He was surprisingly okay with that.  
  
“If you’re done holding out on me, Alfred,” Bruce prompted with only half feigned petulance as he retook his seat at the kitchen table.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Bruce,” Alfred said as he sat down across from Bruce. “I am simply looking out for your wellbeing as best I can.”  
  
Bruce chuckled; he should know better by now than to underestimate the man before him. “And I am very thankful for all that you do. Dick and I would be lost without you, you know.”  
  
Alfred smiled. “I do what I can, sir.”  
  
“I caught Jason attempting to steal one of my great grandmother’s exotic paperweights…among other things,” Bruce said casually, steering the conversation back to the question of their young guests.  
  
“Ah,” Alfred said, immediately recognizing which piece Bruce was referring to. “Well, it was…difficult to find a…suitable place for such a…unique piece.”  
  
Bruce smirked. “You can admit that’s it’s an ugly abomination and that you’d be glad to be rid of it Alfred, I won’t tell.”  
  
“I think nothing of the sort Master Bruce. I’m appalled that you think otherwise,” The butler said.  
  
Bruce bit back on an amused chuckle and frowned slightly as he remembered how that particular exchange with Jason had ended. “He seemed to be under the impression that we’d just be throwing them right back onto the street and that he’d need the money to take care of Tim…He was thinking about stealing the tires off one of the cars in the garage,” Bruce recalled and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the memory.  
  
“Master Jason is certainly a rare individual,” Alfred said. “Young Master Timothy seems to be of the opinion that Master Jason hung the moon in the sky.”  
  
“Oh?” Bruce said. “I thought for sure that was what he thought of Dick.”  
  
Alfred shook his head slightly. “Not exactly, sir. Master Jason may have hung the moon, but I believe that Master Timothy is of the opinion that Master Richard is responsible for making the sun and all of the stars in sky shine while simultaneously keeping the Earth spinning on its axis.”  
  
“An impressive feat for a boy of ten,” Bruce noted.  
  
“Yes, well, it seems that there hasn’t been a great deal of light in that boy’s life,” Alfred said, for the first time letting his distress appear just beneath the surface of his ever-present calm façade.  
  
“I got that impression as well,” Bruce agreed. “But I need more than guesses to work with. Did he say anything?”  
  
“What he did and did not say were both quite telling,” Alfred said, but did not elaborate.  
  
Bruce waited.  
  
After what felt like a short eternity of silence, Alfred said, “He…I learned Master Timothy’s full name.” He paused again and Bruce knew without a doubt that the man was deeply troubled by what he knew. But Bruce did not push. He knew better than that by now.  
  
“His name is Timothy Drake,” Alfred said finally.  
  
The Billionaire reared back in surprise. He couldn’t quite believe his ears.  
  
“Drake? Really?” Bruce demanded. “He  _told_  you that was his name?”  
  
Bruce’s mind raced. Drake. That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? But if it was, it would certainly explain why Tim had been in shock and the sudden fear the child has exhibited earlier that day when prompted to remember what had happened before Jason found him. It would explain the facts, but the implications…  
  
“Indeed, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, that troubled look more obvious now than ever. “I was as surprised as you.”  
  
“All reports indicated that the boy was dead,” Bruce muttered almost to himself as he considered the fragmented pieces of the puzzle before him.  
  
“As I recall they never found the body,” Alfred reminded him.  
  
“I know that,” Bruce snapped more harshly than he intended. Luckily Alfred simply graced him with a patient look and waited for Bruce to gather his thoughts and calm himself. “But it’s been  _weeks,_  Alfred,” he protested. “It doesn’t…” he trailed off, considering the possibilities. Almost immediately he found a plausible explanation that needed to be considered regardless of the way the thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “Was the boy lying about his name?” Bruce asked.  
  
“It is a possibility, but I find it unlikely.” Alfred’s response was quick and concise. There was no doubt in his eyes.  
  
“Oh?” Bruce was curious.  
  
“His reactions were too…  _odd_  to be faked,” Alfred explained.  
  
“What do you mean?” Bruce pressed.  
  
Alfred considered the question. “He was rather matter of fact about everything up until the accident and about everything that followed it.” The disapproving look was quite strong now. “He seemed more upset about what happened to his nanny than anything else, including almost getting killed by Clayface last night. She was the one thing he refused to talk about.”  
  
“Nanny?” Bruce asked, mentally flipping through the sparse facts he remembered about the incident. “You mean the older woman who was among the dead.”  
  
“Yes. Apparently the boy was quite fond of her.”  
  
“You said he wouldn’t talk about her.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but somehow the more he learned, the less sense the story made.  
  
“He wouldn’t. Or rather he refused to speak about what happened to her. I suspect he may have seen her body. But he had a great deal to say about the woman she had been. He said that she was very nice and read to him even though he could do it on his own and that she even hugged him sometimes, which was apparently a rare treat,” Alfred finished, not bothering to hide his indignation at the words he was reporting.  
  
Bruce frowned at the suddenly scathing tone in Alfred’s voice. The man was rarely so blunt in his condemnation. But Tim’s strange responses to physical affection were not the mystery here. “You think he may have seen the body,” Bruce said. “That could be traumatic to a boy his age.”  
  
“Or to a person of any age,” Alfred said astutely, his anger once more hidden from view.  
  
“…Of course,” Bruce agreed, his mind automatically shying away from the echo of two decades old gunshots.  
  
“And the parents?” he asked, a tinge of the Bat creeping into his voice as he struggled to control himself.  
  
“What of them?” Alfred asked.  
  
“What did he say about them, aside from them being in Brazil,” he elaborated, but the question was still more Bat than man.  
  
“The boy had almost nothing to say about them,” Alfred said with a look that spoke volumes. Troubling volumes.  
  
“The media is still running their pleas for any word about Tim Drake’s whereabouts on nearly every channel at least twice an hour, Alfred. I see them every time I turn on the television,” he pointed out.  
  
“Yes sir,” Alfred agreed. “The exact same recordings they’ve been playing since the beginning.”  
  
He frowned. This situation was far more complicated than he had initially thought. “I’m going to need to look into this. I should have paid more attention to the case from the beginning, but it seemed so straight forward. Open and shut tragedy. I should have known it would be anything but in a place like Gotham. I should have taken the matter into my own hands,” Batman growled.  
  
“You can’t blame yourself for that, sir. There was no way to – ” Alfred attempted to protest, but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen.  
  
“He was in shock, Alfred.” Bruce, he was definitely all Bruce now, ranted. “ _Shock._  All the signs were there. Jason was terrified for him, he wouldn’t admit it, but I could tell. I don’t know how, but Jason managed to take care of him. But what if he hadn’t? Can you imagine a boy that Tim’s age wandering around downtown Gotham in that state? Anything could have happened to him. I should have - ”  
  
“Indeed, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “But what’s done is done. And worrying over what-ifs will get you nowhere.” The butler paused for a moment to be sure he had Bruce’s attention. He did, though it was taking a great deal of effort for the world’s greatest detective to reign in his anger at his own negligence. “For once, sir,” Alfred said, “I fear you’re not asking the right question.”  
  
“And what would the right question be?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Consider, Master Bruce, that despite his youth; Master Timothy is a very intelligent child. If he wanted to go home, it would not have been beyond his abilities to accomplish that.”  
  
Bruce reflected and knew almost immediately that Alfred was right. The boy could have found a cop or could have deciphered a map and found his way either to Drake Industries or to his own home. The child was fearless enough to chase after Robin, if the boy had been determined enough there was a high likelihood he would have been found weeks ago.  
  
But Tim Drake hadn’t been found weeks ago. The child likely wouldn’t have been found at all if Tim and Jason hadn’t met Dick and somehow caused his ward to take leave of his senses and want to adopt them. That implied that Tim didn’t want to be found. And that had to be due to more than just the death of a beloved nanny.  
  
“So…the question is why was the son of two of the wealthiest people in Gotham content to live in a box in one of the worst areas of Gotham with a street urchin for several weeks,” Bruce said slowly.  
  
Alfred nodded. “Perhaps you see my point.”  
  
“Jason clearly has no idea who Tim is, besides considering himself Tim’s ‘brother.’ He had no idea that Tim actually had a family,” Bruce said. Then he remembered Jason’s comment about the boy looking as though he had walked through a meat grinder. “Alfred, why would he – ”  
  
“I suspect that Master Timothy was not quite in the right frame of mind when he first encountered Master Jason. And after that…” Alfred suddenly looked quite old. “In truth, I think that the young Master stayed because Master Jason was kind to him.”  
  
“That’s all?” Bruce asked, but it wasn’t really a question. All of the signs were starting to point in a single rather unpleasant direction.  
  
“I would not dream of casting aspersions on strangers, sir,” Alfred said. “But when a child acts the way Master Timothy does, one must…draw certain conclusions.”  
  
“You think they abuse him,” Bruce said flatly.  
  
“Perhaps. What I have seen has been deeply troubling. He – ” Alfred broke off and reconsidered his words before beginning again. “No child should be so confused by the prospect of another person wanting to be in his presence for even a moderate length of time.”  
  
Bruce frowned. That…complicated matters quite a bit. With enough money lining the right pockets, he could have Jason sent some place where the child could flourish, but it was already quite clear that Jason wasn’t going anywhere without Tim. And Tim…well, it was too soon to make assumptions, regardless of Alfred’s feelings on the matter.  
  
He was distracted from his train of thought by Alfred getting up from the table. Bruce looked up at the man who raised him, a question in his eyes.  
  
Alfred smiled thinly. “But of course there are still a lot of empty spaces in that narrative that need clarification. And who better to fill them than yourself? As for the other matter, I wouldn’t worry about it too much at the moment, sir. These things have a way of working themselves out.” Bruce wondered what exactly the butler meant by that, but Alfred’s mask was already firmly in place as he tutted, “Now, I have chores to do and you, I suspect, have some files to sift through. If you’ll excuse me, sir.”  
  
And with that Alfred strode from the room, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce eventually made his way down to the cave. He had work to do, as Alfred had so kindly reminded him.  
  
He sat down in front of the batcomputer and felt half-naked as he always did when he worked in the cave in his civilian attire. He brushed aside the feeling. It would be highly impractical to get dressed in his costume only to have to take it off again when Alfred came to fetch him for dinner.  
  
He meant to get right to work, but without his permission his hands were already accessing the mansion’s security system. In moments he had found them.  
  
The picture was clear. Bruce always kept the security cameras in mansion up to date, even if he had yet to install microphones everywhere. He might have to reconsider that decision, he thought as he watched Dick do a backflip in the middle of the third floor hallway. The aerialist had apparently relented and put Tim down at some point, either at Jason’s insistence or so that he could properly show off for his audience. The smallest of the boys was now walking hand in hand with Jason as both trailed behind their host. Tim was obviously delighted by the show. Jason on the other hand was trying very hard not to look impressed.  
  
Dick landed gracefully and gestured at one of the gaudier paintings that decorated the rich wood paneled walls and began talking rapidly. Bruce focused on reading Dick’s lips and had to bite down on a smile when he realized what his ward was saying.  
  
A gift from a Russian Tsar? Sure, why not. Even Bruce couldn’t remember where his family had gotten that particular pretentious piece.  
  
The Bat shook his head, set the cameras to track their progress through the manor and minimized the camera feed to a small corner of the screen. He probably should have closed it completely, but he felt that he should keep an eye on them. Just to make sure they stayed out of trouble.  
  
Then he left the boys to their tour of the mansion and set himself to the task at hand.  
  
***  
  
After quickly reacquainting himself with Gotham’s adoption and guardianship laws, Bruce began sifting through the month old data on the disappearance of Tim Drake.  
  
It didn’t take long to reconfirm what he’d already known. But the details looked a little different when one of the bullet points was exploring his house with his ward.  
  
Less than a month ago there had been a horrible traffic accident in downtown Gotham. A large delivery truck’s brakes had faltered at the same time a traffic light malfunctioned and some idiot in a sports car decided to go on a joyride. The result had been a five car pileup including the truck. The damage had been…extensive. It had caused as much chaos as any of Batman’s rogues did on any given night, but for once there was no one but pure chance to blame for it.  
  
Seven people had died either on impact or before they reached the hospital. Two were lying in hospital beds somewhere, trapped in comas. Three had been seriously injured. Four had walked away mostly unharmed and one had vanished from the scene before the authorities arrived and hadn’t been seen since.  
  
Well, at least not until last night.  
  
Among the dead were Tim’s nanny and one of the Drake family’s drivers. The boy’s blood had been found at the site, but only traces of it. Not enough to indicate that he’d bled out. There had been no sign of a struggle, though, so the authorities hadn’t even known the boy was missing until they had started doing the paperwork on the dead nanny and driver. Only then did they realize that there was a small child lost somewhere in downtown Gotham.  
  
According to the police records, contacting the Drakes had been difficult, if not impossible. But once they had been reached, the pair had rushed back to Gotham. Bruce watched a recording of the press conference they held on their return and read the two interviews they had given. He glanced over the three commercials that were produced and aired on every channel twice an hour as soon as they were finished being edited. He eyed the list of highly talented individuals that the Drakes had assigned to the task force specifically chosen to find the Drake heir.  
  
He then listened to Janet Drake explain ever so pragmatically that their presence would only hinder the search and that it was too painful for them to deal with not knowing their only child’s fate. For now she and her husband felt that they best served their son and their company by keeping busy. They would of course keep abreast of the situation and return the moment their son was found.  
  
Bruce looked at the plane tickets that took the Drakes back out of the country two days after they arrived, the tickets that had been bought before the pair had even returned in the first place, and wondered what went on behind the scenes of the interviews and commercials and the outdated pictures of Tim Drake plastered on every digital or flat surface that the family’s staff could get their hands on.  
  
He considered the pair of them: cold eyed Janet Drake and her weak-willed husband. Janet was…upset was the only word Bruce could attach to the slight cracks showing in her perfect professional façade. That much was obvious in the video footage of her. But she was not grieving. She did not shed a single tear on camera. Jack’s distress was much more obvious. The man was clearly affected by the disappearance of his son, but listening to him talk in the interviews was painful for other reasons. He couldn’t seem to remember a single consistent fact about his son from interview to interview.  
  
They put on a decent show, but the more he watched, the more he saw through the image the Drakes were presenting to the world. If he wasn’t paying attention, he might even believe they were a functioning family, but there was a reason that Tim was under the impression that his parents hadn’t returned at all, that they weren’t even aware of the fact that he’d gone missing. Bruce had a hunch that they probably wouldn’t have come back to Gotham at all if they hadn’t wanted to face a public outcry over the matter. After all, they could have easily delegated the campaigning and searching completely to their staff.  
  
That wasn’t a crime, though. None of this was a crime, which was why Batman had paid no attention to either the accident or the missing child at the time.  
  
It still wasn’t any of Batman’s business; however, it was quickly becoming  _Bruce’s_  business.  
  
Bruce frowned and widened his search. He pulled up information on Drake Industries and about the Drake family’s residence. He looked up the dossiers of the Drake family’s personal employees and examined the family’s hospital records. He paid close attention to the family’s spending patterns as well as their traveling plans over the past five years.  
  
What he found was telling.  
  
Tim Drake was a child that clearly wanted for nothing. He had the best of everything that money could buy. He was well clothed and well fed, though his physician worried about his below average size. He was a genius according to repeated IQ assessments and was seen to by multiple tutors who were carefully cultivating the child’s intelligence to new and greater heights. He was the perfect heir to an up-and-coming family such as the Drakes.  
  
To all appearances, Tim Drake had a perfect childhood. It appeared that Alfred’s worries were misplaced. The boy wasn’t abused. The child’s parents never laid a single finger on him.  
  
But that was the problem, wasn’t it?  
  
A quick scan of the family’s spending patterns revealed that between themselves, the parents had spent less than a cumulative year in the same city as their son in the child’s five years of life. Their travels had been extensive and far spread. They began this pattern less than a month after Tim was born.  
  
The beloved Nanny that had died in the accident had only been with the boy for a little over a year. She had been hired as a housekeeper when the boy’s nurse, the woman who had cared for him since birth, was deemed “inappropriately attached” and was promptly fired. The files also made it clear that if she hadn’t died, the current nanny would have followed shortly for similar reasons.  
  
No, barring unforeseen data, Batman felt that he could tentatively assume that no physical violence had ever taken place in the Drake household. How could it have? That would require the parents to actually be in the same country as their child. That would require the boy to have consistent contact with  _any_  adult.  
  
But no judge would remove the boy from his home over that. And certainly not to give the boy to…well, anyone Bruce could find. The legal system tried very hard to keep families intact whenever possible, after all. And not even pointing out the boy’s preference for a  _box_  over the big empty house he had lived in for his entire life would get Bruce’s lawyers very far. Especially since for all their negligence the Drakes certainly weren’t going to let their son go without a vicious fight. Their lawyers would use the trauma of the accident as a plausible explanation for all of Tim’s actions and would talk sweetly about the importance of family.  
  
And then he would hold up Brucie’s wonderful reputation and any chance of winning would...  
  
Not that Bruce intended to attempt to win guardianship over the boy, of course. He really didn’t. He  _couldn’t._  
  
Even if the boy desperately needed someone, anyone who wasn’t those…people.  
  
Bruce knew he wasn’t cut out for parenting, but even  _he_  could do better by the boy. Not that he intended to.  
  
He knew better than that. Didn’t he?  
  
Bruce let his head fall into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. He was definitely becoming over invested in the case. He needed to step back and think about this like a rational adult. He needed to stop thinking about the way Tim had leaned so tentatively into the Bruce’s hand on his shoulder or the cautious delight in the boy’s eyes when Dick had hugged him so enthusiastically.  
  
This wasn’t supposed to be personal.  
  
It wasn’t.  
  
Bruce glanced back up at the screen and his eyes caught sight of the minimized security footage of the boys. Blinking, Bruce maximized the window and opened several more utilizing the secondary cameras in that particular room.  
  
Dick and Jason were wrestling in the middle of the room. Bruce intended to rewind the video and find out how long they’d been at it and decide whether or not he should interfere, but his hand never quite made it to the button. He was distracted by the pride he felt at watching the way Dick was handling himself. His ward was stronger, faster and better trained, but he was holding back just enough to let Jason keep up with him. He was pulling his punches and… _playing,_  for lack of a another word, with the younger boy. And Jason, well, the boy probably knew that Dick was going easy on him, but he certainly wasn’t holding anything back.  
  
Bruce frowned as he realized that he had begun planning a training schedule based on Jason’s strengths and weaknesses in this play fight. Once he knew what he was doing he stamped down on that train of thought and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. But try as he might he couldn’t quite erase the half written plan. In his defense, though, it was a very good plan.  
  
…Which was not a good thing, he reminded himself firmly.  
  
Any other thoughts he had about play wrestling and non-existent training programs were derailed when Jason suddenly broke away from Dick and charged out of the room. Bruce blinked in surprise. The boy was clearly panicked and Bruce wondered what could be so distressing in the safe environment that was the mansion.  
  
Bruce switched the camera views to follow the boy, leaving one window open still focused on Dick who looked torn between chasing after the smaller boy and staying where he was. Before Bruce could find out what Dick was going to choose, Jason had already found what he was looking for. He was gripping a blank faced Tim by the shoulders and his face was flushed an angry red.  
  
Curious, Bruce turned up the volume on the microphones that he’d thankfully installed in that particular section of hallway.  
  
“…how many times do I have to tell you, kid? Don’t wander off! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” Jason was lecturing; his young voice filled an oddly familiar mixture of terrified and angry.  
  
“Nothing hap– ” Tim tried to protest softly, but Jason was having none of it.  
  
“Yeah. Nothing happened. Like the time you almost got killed by Poison Ivy or when that creepy pedo was giving you the eye?” Jason demanded. “I don’t care where we are. It doesn’t matter. We stick together. You know better than this. So what the hell was going through that genius brain of yours, huh?”  
  
Tim bit his lip and ducked his head slightly. “You. You were having fun. I, I didn’t want to get in the way,” the boy said falteringly. “I want you to be happy.”  
  
Bruce watched Jason’s hands clench into fists and then forcefully relax. “You idiot,” Jason growled and pulled Tim into a tight hug. “ _You_  make me happy. So I can’t be happy if I don’t know for certain you’re okay all the time. Got me?” He drew back and stared the boy down until Tim nodded slowly.  
  
Jason echoed the motion. “Good. And I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t have let Bigbird get me worked up enough to forget to watch you for even a moment. “  
  
“You’re sorry?” Tim asked looking honestly confused.  
  
Jason sighed as though this was a familiar conversation. “Yeah. Don’t make me say it again, Babybird. I know I’m a shitty brother, but I – ”  
  
“You’re not a shitty brother!” Tim exclaimed.  
  
Bruce had never heard the boy speak that loudly before, and apparently neither had Jason because the little thief rocked back like he’d been slapped. Tim was also seemed caught off-guard by his own voice. As soon as he realized what he’d done, the boy flushed and his hands flew up to cover his mouth in obvious mortification at his unprecedented boldness.  
  
Jason snorted and pulled the smaller boy into another hug.  
  
“You’re a very good brother,” Tim reiterated from within Jason’s hold in his usual quiet voice as his blush began to dissipate.  
  
“Well, I try,” Jason said. He clearly didn’t believe Tim’s assessment, but wasn’t going to fight about it. “Come on,” the street urchin said, pulling away from the other boy and grabbing his hand.  
  
Bruce watched Jason drag Tim back to the sitting room where the two older boys had been brawling. Dick had just started to move toward the door when Jason and Tim burst into the room.  
  
Bruce turned up the audio in the sitting room in time to hear Dick say, “Everything okay, Jay, Timmy?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Jason said gruffly. “Just had to set the kid straight on a few things. Anyway, those flippy things you did earlier were kind of cool in a stupid girly sort of way.”  
  
“Girly?” Dick asked, attempting to raise his eyebrow at the younger boy. He couldn’t quite manage the look Alfred delivered with cutting ease, but he was improving.  
  
“Acrobats have to be really strong.” Tim glanced worriedly between the older boys. “That’s not girly, is it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dick said with a small smirk. “Can  _you_  do a backflip or walk on your hands, Jaybird?”  
  
Jason stuck out his tongue. “…No. But it can’t be that hard. And if you’re really that good you can teach me and the kid, right?”  
  
Tim blinked in surprise. “Me? I can’t…”  
  
“Of course you can, Babybird,” Dick assured warmly.  
  
“Dickface knows what he’s talking about for once,” Jason agreed. “Come on, I want to be walking on my hands before the kid’s bedtime.”  
  
Dick rolled his eyes. “It’s harder than it looks, Jay. So unless you don’t want to be able to move a single muscle tomorrow; we have to warm up first. Then we’ll start small and work our way up to the more challenging stuff.”  
  
“Boring,” Jason said.  
  
“Don’t care,” Dick replied firmly. “We do it my way or not at all. No one gets hurt on my watch.”  
  
Jason made a face but nodded his assent.  
  
Bruce watched the boys push the room’s furniture against the walls and out of their way at Tim’s conscientious insistence. Then he observed his ward lead the boys through a series of simplified warm ups. He nodded approvingly to himself as Dick corrected their stances and kept them from hurting themselves. He couldn’t quite stop his lips from quirking in amusement as Dick taught the boys how to do a simple forward roll followed by a backward roll, chattering constantly all the while.  
  
He had long since stopped pretending to work on Tim’s case or any other for that matter. For the moment was simply sat quietly, letting the youthful voices of his ward and their guests wash over him.  
  
“Interesting program, sir?”  
  
Bruce most emphatically did not jump in surprise at the enquiring voice.  
  
“Alfred,” he said. “I seem to have lost track of the time.”  
  
Which was true, he realized when he glanced at the clock. He’d wasted most of the afternoon. No wonder Alfred had come down to fetch him.  
  
“Yes, that does seem to be the case,” the butler said mildly.  
  
Bruce grimaced and knew he’d been caught out. “Alfred…”  
  
“Don’t mind me, sir,” the man said, glancing noncommittally at the screen of the batcomputer. “However, I do wonder if you’re aware of why Master Richard is behaving the way he is.”  
  
Bruce’s lips quirked into a small smile as he thought back to the conversation over brunch and to the way Dick was handling his “lesson” with his strays. “I know exactly what he’s doing,” he admitted. “You know what they say about the problem with naming things, especially stray animals, don’t you, Alfred? And then of course he gave them  _bird_  names and has been going out of his way to showcase their potential while making a point of showing off his own ability to look out for them.”  
  
“So you’ve seen through his schemes,” the butler observed.  
  
“Dick has never been particularly good at deception. Or at least he’s never been very good at deceiving me,” Bruce agreed. What he didn’t say was that the worst part about Dick’s manipulations was that it didn’t seem to matter that Bruce knew he was being manipulated. It was still working.  
  
Of course, Alfred probably already knew that.  
  
“Dinner will be served in hour, Master Bruce, however before you come up, might I suggest that you keep today’s surveillance footage readily on file.”  
  
Bruce glanced back at the butler in surprise. “What for?”  
  
The man smiled faintly. “For posterity, sir.”  
  
“Posterity?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at the butler.  
  
“Mmm,” Alfred hummed. “I believe the colloquial term is ‘home video.’ If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll see to preparing dinner.”  
  
With that the butler vanished into the shadows of the cave, leaving his employer at a loss for words for the second time that day.


	5. Chapter 5

A few hours later, Batman headed out into the night by himself for the first time in months.  
  
It felt odd to operate without his bright little shadow, but for once Robin didn’t seem to be bothered with being grounded. When Bruce swept down into the cave after dinner, the boy had barely noticed his departure, seemingly happily occupied with shepherding his strays around the manor.  
  
Batman spared a thought to wonder if benching was still an appropriate punishment if Dick actually  _enjoyed_  it, but decided that since the strays would soon be on their way in one manner or another it was a moot point. Besides, Gotham City did not allow him much time to think. She was always in need of saving, after all.  
  
Still, he had three cases to take care of. So he ran a quick patrol of the city. He stopped six muggings, three attempted rapes and stopped a robbery of a convenience station before heading over to his first destination. Luckily Clayface and his goons were foolish enough to not have cleared out after their run-in with Robin last night. Batman easily tracked them down and by the time he was done leaving them and their “goods” giftwrapped for the police he still had a little less than half the night left to handle his other two cases.  
  
Over the fine meal Alfred had prepared for them, Bruce had managed to find out Jason’s family name as well as the names of his parents. Those were some of the only concrete things the boy had been able to tell him.  
  
The child wasn’t maliciously withholding information, though, as Bruce had confirmed before heading out that night.  
  
“My dad’s in jail,” Jason (last name Todd) had reported with a careless shrug as he nudged Tim in an attempt to get him to eat more. “Been there for a long time, so I don’t remember him very good. Mom used to talk about him a lot, but then she stopped. Doesn’t matter. Not like I miss him. Don’t need him, either.”  
  
Willis Todd was indeed in jail. The man was in the process of serving a seven year sentence for a laundry list of petty crimes that had finally caught up with him.  
  
The boy had also given the address where his mother had been staying when he left her, but added, “She’s probably not around there anymore. We were about ready to clear out when I left, so I don’t know where she is now.”  
  
“Do you move around a lot?” Dick had asked curiously.  
  
Jason nodded. “Few times a year,” he said, still more concerned with his meal than the conversation. “Mom can’t hold onto a job or man too good. Old Lady Soto said she’s got bad taste.”  
  
Catherine Ann Todd was, according to the files Bruce had been able to dig up, only a step or two above being a vagrant. Her records were spotty and incomplete due to her tendency to fall off the grid only to reappear either in a new job or in a hospital bed every few months. Her name showed up on only a handful of apartment leases meaning that either the little family had been homeless or they had been staying with friends, probably the “boyfriends” Jason had mentioned.  
  
Dick frowned. “Don’t you miss her?” the aerialist asked, a shadow of grief passing over his normally smiling face. Bruce knew he was thinking about his own parents. Both Bruce and Dick would give anything to see their parents again, but Jason, whose mother was still alive, seemed completely unconcerned with the absence. Dick clearly didn’t know what to do with this attitude.  
  
“I’m old enough to take care of myself,” Jason said simply, though rather clearly avoiding answering the question. “Besides, she’s better off without me around to drag her down.”  
  
Dick’s eyes had widened at that. “That’s not true,” he said. “It’s not!” Then the older boy had attempted to pull Jason into a hug. Unlike Tim, Jason had refused to docilely accept the affection. He struggled violently against Dick’s efforts, but the older boy was bigger and stronger and despite Jason’s best efforts, the two ended up on the floor in a mess of limbs, soaking wet with water they’d managed to spill on themselves during the struggle. Still, Dick got his hug.  
  
“Don’t say things like that!” Dick continued his admonishment as he clung to the smaller boy like a leech. “You’re like, what, seven? You shouldn’t be off on your own and you’re certainly not dragging anyone down.”  
  
Jason beat his hands useless against Dick’s sides for a few moments before giving up on escaping. “First of all, I’m  _eight_  not seven,” the street urchin snapped. ”That’s not the same at all, Dickface. Second of all, I know what it means to be deadweight, and I’m it. Heard enough from my “uncles” to know it, so don’t try to tell me otherwise, got it? My mom’s said plenty too, even if she wasn’t all there because of the drugs when she did it and said sorry later. Truth is truth and I can handle it. I don’t need to hear lies, so back off!”  
  
The aerialist just hugged Jason tighter before reluctantly letting go. “It’s not a lie and they’re idiots for telling you that,” Dick insisted.  
  
The street urchin ignored him and got back into his seat only to find Tim staring at him with wide eyes. “Jason…” the smallest boy murmured worriedly.  
  
Jason grimaced and automatically reached out to pull the boy into a one armed hug. “Hey, hey. No need to make that sad face. It’s fine. No worries, Babybird.”  
  
Tim’s mouth twisted in a tiny frown, but he nodded slowly and then they all concentrated on finishing their rapidly cooling meals, the mood suddenly far more somber than it had been before.  
  
Shaking his head slightly, Bruce returned his attention to the present. He needed to find Catherine Todd, but first there was something he needed to see for himself.  
  
***  
  
Crime Alley was as it always was.  
  
Batman swept down from above, searching for Jason’s box. The nooks and crannies of the Alley were many, though. And the many boxes he spotted looked indistinguishable from any other box he’d ever seen.  
  
Bruce couldn’t quite bring himself to imagine how those two boys had lived here for a  _month,_  but Batman knew that countless people could and did live in such conditions and even worse conditions for years, for their entire lives.  
  
And there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
Batman knew he couldn’t save everyone and that it would be pointless to try. His efforts were best served in cleaning up the city, in making it  _safe._  
  
Or as safe a Gotham could ever be.  
  
He knew this. But the reminder of his limits, his inadequacy, stung. No matter what he did, it was never enough. Could  _never_  be enough.  
  
The Dark Knight frowned and admonished himself for woolgathering. He had a schedule to keep and no time for such unproductive thoughts.  
  
He did, however, make a note in the back of his mind to donate the money for another homeless shelter in the area before refocusing on his mission. One more shelter wouldn’t be enough, but it was the best he could do.  
  
Batman recalled Robin’s description of where the boys had been staying and narrowed down his options to a shadowy alleyway between two crumbling buildings. There were several boxes lining the narrow passage and each one was quickly abandoned by their inhabitants when Batman stepped out of the darkness.  
  
Most of them were quite a bit older than Jason and Tim. Batman wondered how two small boys had managed to keep their box from being forcibly taken from them, but supposed that might have something to do with the bribes Jason had mentioned.  
  
Batman casually snagged one of the box-dwellers by the collar and slammed him into the wall.  
  
“B-batman! I didn’t do nothin’!” the man blubbered. “I’ll tell ya anything. I swear!”  
  
“Good,” Batman said. “Tell me, do you remember two boys who were living in this alley?”  
  
“I don’t know nothing about no kids,” the man whined. “I swear!”  
  
“Perhaps I can improve your memory,” Batman growled and shook the vagrant sharply.  
  
“You looking for Todd and his brother?” a voice asked from somewhere to his right.  
  
Still holding the man with one hand, Batman whirled to face the voice. A few feet away from him stood a scraggly teenager. After a moment of consideration, Batman dropped the vagrant and stalked toward the teen, ignoring the shuffling sounds of his first potential source scrambling out of the line of fire.  
  
“What do you know about them?” Batman asked roughly as he advanced.  
  
The teen took a few steps back, looking nervous, but determined. “They in trouble or something?”  
  
Batman said nothing.  
  
“Look, Todd’s a good kid. If he’s in trouble I wanna know about it. We look for our own out here even if the kid’s too thick to accept anyone’s help,” the teen said stubbornly.  
  
“You’re in the East Street Gang,” Batman observed, reading the signs in the teen’s fraying clothing.  
  
The teen paled, but didn’t back up any farther. “I ain’t done nothing,” the gang member insisted. “This ain’t about me, anyhow. Todd’s new meat, but I like ‘im.”  
  
“What do you know about Catherine Todd?” Batman asked.  
  
“Who’s that?” the teen asked. “Their mom? Sister?”  
  
Batman said nothing, and simply glared at the gang member through the whited out lenses of his cowl.  
  
The teen paled further. “Ain’t know a thing sir, but Skinny Jack vouched for the kid. Knew his old man. That’s all I know. I swear.”  
  
Batman nodded sharply and then demanded to know where “Skinny Jack” could be found. The gang member told him and then tried to slip off, but before he could, Batman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close. “Stay out of trouble,” the Bat warned menacingly. “You won’t find me nearly so pleasant if you don’t keep your nose clean.”  
  
The gang member went white as sheet. “No, sir, Batman-sir. Never want to see you again if I can help it.”  
  
“Good,” Batman said and then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving a shaken gang member in his wake.  
  
***  
  
Batman found “Skinny Jack” a short time later drinking away his money in a bar on 63rd street.  
  
Although the man was anything but skinny, Batman found Jack to be quite talkative after he dragged the man out of the bar in the confusion caused by a handy smoke bomb.  
  
“The hell? Ba-batman! Wh-what do you want? I didn’t – ” the man babbled helplessly when Batman slammed him up against an alley wall.  
  
“This isn’t about what you did, Jack,” Batman growled. “It’s about what you know.”  
  
“I- I-” Skinny Jack whimpered pathetically.  
  
“What do you know about the Todds?” Batman demanded.  
  
“Willis? He’s still in jail, ain’t he?” Jack slurred.  
  
“I want to know about his wife…and his sons,” Batman elaborated darkly.  
  
The man nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah. Only one of those kids was his, if that’s what you want to hear. But Cathy, she’s always with some’un or another. But the older one, he’s Willis’ alright. Good kid. Smart ‘ead on his shoulders.”  
  
“Where is Catherine Todd?” Batman cut in. He didn’t have time to listen to Skinny Jack’s ramblings. He was on a tight schedule.  
  
Jack forgot himself enough to laugh uproariously at the question. “Where? Where hasn’t that whore been?”  
  
Batman slammed Jack roughly against the wall, reminded the fool just who he was talking to. “Keep the libel to yourself, Jack. I want the facts.”  
  
“Sh-she could be anywhere. How should I know? I’m not ‘er keeper,” the man said.  
  
“Then tell me where she’s been, Jack. Give me names: friends, ex-lovers, people who’ve sheltered Todd and her children,” Batman growled.  
  
Without any further encouragement Skinny Jack sang like a bird.  
  
When the man literally couldn’t dredge up another half remembered family friend, Batman dropped the shaken and bewildered louse on the ground and slipped back into the shadows. He was pleased. “Skinny Jack” had provided him with quite a list of names and places where the individuals bearing those names could be found.  
  
It was a good start, but before he followed those leads, he stopped in at the address Jason had given him. The apartment that Jason had apparently lived in for a few months before he took the streets was abandoned, but Batman managed to track down the place’s “landlord.” The vile man was distinctly unhelpful and had nothing pleasant to say about anyone, especially the Todds.  
  
Batman did however find out Catherine Todd’s ex-boyfriend’s name and that the two had had a rather explosive break-up a little over a month ago. The man also insisted that he hadn’t seen the “little bastard” around even before that. Batman almost crushed the contemptible creature’s windpipe when he made a comment about wishing Red, the boyfriend, had drowned the little brat in his bathwater.  
  
Bruce felt only a little guilty about leaving the man suspended upside-down outside his own apartment building. Even though as far as Batman knew the man hadn’t technically done anything wrong, he highly suspected Todd’s old landlord had been less than honest in his business dealings. If he wasn’t in such a hurry he’d examine the books himself, but for now Batman had bigger fish to fry.  
  
The Bat followed every lead, tracking down every last name that Skinny Jack had given him. Most of the leads went nowhere, but a few knew enough to lead him to other people who had had a more recent acquaintance with the Todds.  
  
The most intriguing of the people he met was the the Soto woman Jason had mentioned. It turned out that she was the matriarch of a large Latino family in one of Gotham’s poorer, but relatively safer neighborhoods. She had half a dozen children and countless grandchildren and great grandchildren that she watched over as her children struggled to make ends meet. She had also apparently been one of Todd’s go-to babysitters for hours or days at a time.  
  
The time Jason spent in Soto’s care had apparently endeared the boy to her, because of all the sources Batman interrogated that night; she was the only one who interrogated him in turn, demanding to know if the boy was well. Once she knew Jason was safe, she was very forthcoming, but warned in heavily accented English that if he didn’t have the boy’s best interests at heart that mythical creature of the night or not, she would not hesitate to put him over her knee and teach him a lesson about responsibility.  
  
Batman rarely received threats from civilians, but this one felt surprisingly more intimidating (or perhaps humbling) than any other threat he’d gotten in quite some time.  
  
As he left the woman’s home Bruce found himself thankful that Jason had had such a strong positive influence in his life. He also decided that Wayne Enterprises needed to invest in the area. Perhaps buy up the buildings, lower the rent and improve the utilities available to the inhabitants. And he should probably talk to Dr. Thompkins about upgrading the nearby free clinic. It was that time of year anyway, wasn’t it?  
  
Batman scowled at himself and pushed his charitable thoughts to the side. He picked up Todd’s trail once more, following it from source to source until he finally found her.  
  
He learned Todd’s current address courtesy of her dealer, a pathetic individual who the police would soon be picking up and then wasted no further time before heading to her location. There was high probability that she was “home” and the Bat knew that if she  _wasn’t_  it was very unlikely he’d be able to find her that night. He needed to find her, though. For Jason’s sake this needed to be taken care of as quickly and as discretely as possible. Bruce had no desire to drag this out and he didn’t want to think about what he’d have to do if Catherine Todd decided to fall off the radar again.  
  
***  
  
Batman slipped quickly and silently into the dilapidated apartment Catherine Todd and her current boyfriend were staying in. No one noticed his presence as he stalked through the shadows of the house, searching for his quarry.  
  
She was there, sitting in a tiny kitchen, staring blankly off into space with unfocused eyes.  
  
The boyfriend was passed out on the sofa, sleeping off what looked like a few dozen bottles of beer.  
  
It was for the best. Batman wanted to have this conversation without any distractions and, from what Jason had said, any lover of Catherine Todd was likely to be highly unhelpful.  
  
Batman came to a stop just to the woman’s right side and waited silently to be noticed. As he waited he observed her features. She had long, limp hair and dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked every inch the drug addict he’d expected, but what surprised him was that she only superficially resembled her son. Jason looked almost nothing like her, but Batman supposed the boy did take more after his father in terms of his appearance based on the years old photo of the man in Mr. Todd’s file.  
  
“Good evening, Mrs. Todd,” the Bat greeted darkly when it became apparent that the woman wasn’t going to notice him on her own.  
  
Catherine Todd jumped in surprise and nearly fell out of her chair at the sound of his voice. Good. Batman wanted to keep her off guard.  
  
“You - you’re the Batman,” the woman said disbelievingly. “What are you – ” she cut herself off. “My boy,” she said, her eyes suddenly surprisingly clear. “My baby, something’s happened to him. He’s dead, isn’t he? No, nonono then they’d send the cops. Of course. No, he‘s in trouble. My Jason, who has him? What have they done to him?” Todd demanded, stumbling forward until she was clinging to Batman in obvious desperation.  
  
That was not the response the Bat had expected.  
  
“Your son is fine,” Batman said stiffly, trying to make sense of the woman before him.  
  
Todd abruptly released him and would have fallen if Batman didn’t automatically reach out to support her. She brushed him off impatiently and staggered over to the counter.  
  
“That’s good then,” she said inanely. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked as she fumbled with an old coffee maker. “Of course you do,” she berated herself as she continued in her self-appointed task.  
  
She was shaking like a leaf.  
  
“No thank you, Mrs. Todd,” Batman growled. He stalked over to her side and pried the coffeemaker from her hands before leading her back to her seat. “We have things to discuss.”  
  
Todd looked up at him in confusion. “You said he was fine,” she said. It was an accusation.  
  
“He is.”  
  
“Then what is there is discuss?” she demanded. “He’s fine.”  
  
“You’re his mother,” Batman said.  
  
“Some mother I am.” She laughed bitterly, burying her face in her hands.  
  
“You haven’t seen him for over a month,” Batman growled.  
  
The woman said nothing.  
  
Batman scowled in frustration. “Don’t you care about him at all?” Bruce demanded  
  
Todd blinked slowly and turned to look up at him. She looked a great deal older than knew her to be. “Do you have a mother?” she asked after a prolonged silence.  
  
Batman stiffened. How dare she speak of his mother? “What does that – ”  
  
“Everything,” she said. She was silent for a few seconds before she continued, stumbling over her words as she spoke. “Everyone has a mother. I had one. You must have too, once, though maybe you don’t remember. It’s so very hard. I should never have been a mother, I know, I know, but I couldn’t leave him.”  
  
“And now?” Batman asked, a little caught off guard by the woman’s ranting. Maybe she did care about Jason.  
  
“You said he was fine,” she insisted.  
  
“He is,” Batman agreed.  
  
“Then he can stay where he is,” Todd said, gripping the edges of her chair tightly with trembling hands.  
  
“You’ll take my word for it?” Batman asked.  
  
“You had a mother didn’t you?” she asked inanely. “Batman is a demon, but even demons have mothers. The children say nice things about you. You don’t hurt kids. You don’t. So he’s fine and that’s good. Why are you here? Why are you dragging him back here? Let him go. Don’t tie him down. He’ll end up just like his bastard father – ” Her voice got progressively louder as she spoke until she abruptly cut herself off and began staring blankly into space again.  
  
“Don’t you care what happens to him?” Bruce demanded. He wouldn’t let her run away from Jason, not physically, not mentally. Not if she really meant anything she said.  
  
“Care? Of course I care,” Todd said, suddenly becoming animated with surprisingly forceful anger. “That’s why I have to let him go. Can’t be selfish, can I? Need to do what’s best for him.”  
  
“He needs his mother,” Bruce said, already making plans. Catherine Todd was clearly not a lost clause. He could get her into a private rehab center for a start, but that wouldn’t be enough. He needed to find her stable employment and figure out a way to keep her away from the negative influences in her life. “There are people who can help you - ”  
  
Todd laughed and laughed, silencing anything more Bruce might have said.  
  
“Help?” she said through gasps of laughter. “What a riot. Help me.”  
  
“I’m serious,” Bruce snapped. “Jason needs you.”  
  
“He needs anything but me,” Todd corrected. She was no longer laughing. “I know what’s best for my son. And it isn’t me.”  
  
“We can get you clean,” Bruce insisted. “There are doctors and specialists who can put you back together. You can start over – ”  
  
Todd smiled sadly at him. “You’re sweet,” she said. “But I’m too old to change.”  
  
“No one is too old to change,” Bruce said.  
  
Todd kept smiling. “I am,” she said simply. “I’ve dug my grave. Let me lie in it in peace.”  
  
Bruce’s hands tightened into fists at the finality in her voice. He couldn’t believe this woman.  
  
“You’re afraid.” It was an accusation.  
  
“No. I’m tired,” Todd corrected. “There’s a difference. Why are you here?”  
  
“I’m here about your  _son,_  Jason,” Bruce said, knowing he was being redundant and not caring.  
  
Todd just looked at him and Bruce realized that he wasn’t going to be able to change her mind. She wanted nothing to do with the boy.  
  
“Your son helped out the son of a valued associate of mine. My associate has expressed interest in the boy and asked me to secure his future in whatever manner I could,” Batman said.  
  
“Where do I sign?” Todd asked.  
  
It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? Was this woman really so willing to sign her child away?  
  
Batman pulled out the blank adoption papers he had prepared before he left for patrol that evening and handed them over to Todd. The woman glanced over the pages, but she said nothing even though she had obviously noticed that she truly was signing her child away without any idea what might happen to him.  
  
She staggered over to the small kitchen table, the papers clutched in her hands. Batman followed her like a shadow. He handed her a pen and helpfully pointed out all the places she needed to sign. Once she was finished he gave her another set of papers that would ensure both her silence on the subject of the boy’s adoption and prevent her from reclaiming the rights she had just signed away. She signed them without question even after Batman explained what each form meant in explicit detail.  
  
Once she was finished, Batman reclaimed the papers and whisked them safely out of sight. He waited a moment to see if she would change her mind, despite himself hoping that she would prove him wrong, that she would actually come through for the boy.  
  
She remained silent and Batman turned to leave.  
  
“Tell him I’m dead, if it helps,” Todd’s quiet voice cut through stale stillness of the apartment.  
  
“Why would I do that?’ Bruce asked, refusing to turn to face the woman.  
  
“I don’t want to hold him back. That boy…he’ll be better than I ever was. So, you take care of him. I’m trusting you, h-hear me?” Her voice cracked. Bruce realized with some surprise that she was crying.  
  
He turned to face her and could barely stand to look at her watery eyes and tearstained cheeks. “Catherine, you don’t need to do this.” He was pleading, but she was crying.  
  
“Tell him I’m dead,” she insisted. There were still tears in her eyes, but her eyes were clearer than they’d been all night, clearer, perhaps, than they’d been in years. “Tell him I’m dead and go away.”  
  
Bruce nodded solemnly and Batman reluctantly vanished into the darkness.  
  
***  
  
On his way to take care of his last case of the night Batman went out of his way to stop three muggings, four robberies and a carjacking. He may have been slightly more…vehement in subduing his prey than usual, but he still made it across town with plenty of time to spare.  
  
He had known what he was going to find, but the contrast between his first two cases and the last was still jarring. The tightly packed, interconnected world of Gotham’s slums seemed as though it should be worlds away from the sterile fastidiousness of Gotham’s white picket fence-lined suburbs, rather than just a few miles away.  
  
Batman gazed at the Drake Family Residence and wondered what exactly he was doing here. There was nothing he could do in this place. Nothing he found here would help him decide what needed to be done with little Tim Drake.  
  
And yet…  
  
He needed to see this for himself.  
  
Batman briefly considered going in through the front door, but on the off chance someone actually  _was_  inside the dark building, he entered through a window instead.  
  
He quickly found that his caution was unnecessary.  
  
A quick survey revealed what he knew to be true from looking at the Drake’s expenses. The only people to have set foot in the Drake House in the last month were the cleaning service and the gardener, both of whom visited once every two weeks. According to what he’d found earlier that day, the Drakes hadn’t even bothered to come back here during their brief return to the States when Tim had first disappeared.  
  
Batman ghosted through the halls of the Manor. Every room he peered into was tastefully decorated with beautiful artwork and fine furniture. Each one looked like something out of an interior design magazine, prefect and untouched.  
  
Furthering the impression of the house being a model rather than an actual residence was the complete absence of photographs. There were no portraits of either the Drakes or their son. No wedding or vacation photos. Nothing to identify the owners of the home unless one already knew who had had the place built seven years ago to rigorously high standards.  
  
Batman frowned as he took in the distinct lack of personal items in any of the rooms. There were no knickknacks, no misplaced games or articles of clothing, no indulgences to be found unless one counted Jack Drake’s archeological findings. There were quite a few of those housed in glass cases throughout the house. That was it.  
  
Bruce could not wrap his mind around the idea that a child had lived for five years in this house. Dick had only been living with him for two years and yet already he knew that Wayne Manor would never be the same. Dick didn’t mean to cause so much trouble, but the boy was always full of such energy and when one houses a circus child who can literally bounce off the walls, some chandeliers were occasionally lost in that glorious war against boredom. Despite Alfred’s best efforts there were few rooms in the Manor that did not bear the marks of Dick’s adventures. (The ones that hadn’t witnessed the brunt of Dick’s enthusiasm instead hid mislaid belongings tucked behind couches and under coffee tables.) Bruce honestly didn’t mind the mishaps or the mess (and he suspected Alfred loved it); they made the Manor feel alive for the first time since Bruce’s parents were murdered.  
  
The Drake Household was not alive in any sense of the word. It felt as cold and empty as a tomb  
  
Bruce could feel the house begin to suffocate him after only a few minutes.  
  
No. He was being ridiculous. There was plenty of air in the hallway he was striding through, even if he was being painfully reminded of what it felt like when he wore his “Brucie” mask for too long. That constricting feeling of being boxed in until he felt like gasping for breath. He wondered how little Tim had endured living in this place in almost complete isolation for over five years…  
  
He took a deep, steadying breath and made his way up the stairs. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could go home to his childr- his ward.  
  
There were many bedrooms on the second floor. One was obviously the master suit, but the others were harder to tell apart. He worried that it would be impossible to figure out which one was Tim’s, but his worries were at least partially allayed when he found the only room that could be Tim’s.  
  
The Superman sheets were a dead giveaway.  
  
Bruce smirked at the sight. It was a relief to know the boy had at least some paraphernalia of childhood even in this austere place. Still, he would need to get Tim proper sheets, regardless of what was decided about the boy’s future. Black and yellow was so much more tasteful than Clark’s eyesore color scheme.  
  
Bruce looked away from the bed and took in the rest of the room. There were two bookcases laden down with books, none of which were for children and several of which were written in Greek, Latin and French.  
  
There was a state of the art computer on a desk beside the bookcases and…that was it. There were no toys in the room barring a stack of educational games and DVDs stacked neatly next to the computer.  
  
The room looked practically untouched. Not a book was out of (alphabetical) place and only their cracked spines shown that anyone had ever even read them. All of Tim’s clothing was neatly folded and put away, out of sight.  
  
Bruce’s eye caught sight of something glinting on the bedside table and he moved forward to examine it. He frowned slightly as he carefully picked up the picture frame and took in the surreal sight of a grinning Dick Grayson hugging the life out of an even smaller Tim Drake.  
  
The boy really had been there, he thought. He hadn’t doubted Tim or Dick, but seeing the proof here was odd. Especially since it was the only photo he had seen in the entire house. Meeting Dick…and watching the Graysons fall to their deaths had obviously had a strong effect on the boy.  
  
Bruce set the picture frame down and began a more thorough search of the room. There wasn’t much to find. He a quick search under the bed revealed a well-used chemistry set complete with half empty vials of dangerous chemicals and a box filled with newspaper clippings detailing the exploits of Brucie Wayne and his ward, Richard Grayson. The very first clippings at the bottom of the box were from the day after the Grayson’s murder.  
  
Yes. That night had apparently affected Tim deeply.  
  
Bruce put the chemistry set back where he found it and placed Tim’s picture of that day at the circus in the shoe box. He closed up the box and tucked it under his arm.  
  
Whatever was going to happen with Tim was going to take a while. It seemed like a worthless gesture, but Bruce couldn’t help but think that if he and Dick had been such a constant in the boy’s life even when the child’s parents weren’t, that perhaps Tim would want to have these.  
  
Batman spared the room one last glance before slipping out of the house like the shadow he was, leaving it just as he had found it: silent and vacant of life.


	6. Chapter 6

“Burning the midnight oil, sir?”  
  
Bruce blinked tiredly up at Alfred and smiled faintly at the sight of the heavily laden tea tray the butler was carrying. “So to speak,” Bruce said, glancing down at his paper strewn desk. For once he was deigning to work in his study as opposed to the cave, mostly because his current cases required Bruce Wayne’s attention. From this point forward he needed to leave the Bat out of the action.  
  
Either way, he wasn’t going to be sleeping that night.  
  
“It’s long past midnight,” Bruce continued. “You should get some sleep, Alfred.”  
  
“With all due respect, Master Bruce,” the man said stiffly, “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”  
  
“I don’t plan on sleeping tonight.” Bruce tried again.  
  
“You need to sleep, sir. You get little enough already. You can’t afford to go without,” Alfred said reprovingly as he set down the tea tray at the edge of the desk.  
  
“This is more important,” Bruce said stubbornly.  
  
“And what case has grabbed hold of you tonight, sir?” Alfred inquired.  
  
Bruce hesitated. “I’m trying to figure how to handle the situation with Dick’s st…ah, with the boys he picked up.”  
  
“You mean Master Jason and Master Timothy, I presume,” Alfred said mildly.  
  
Bruce grunted in acknowledgement.  
  
“You haven’t decided yet, then?” Alfred asked and there was a note in his voice that implied surprise at this news.  
  
“It isn’t exactly a straightforward problem,” Bruce pointed out.  
  
“My apologies, Master Bruce, but I thought the situation was quite clear,” Alfred said. The man’s face gave away nothing, as usual, but Bruce could hear the rebuke in his voice.  
  
Bruce sighed expansively, “It’s not that simple. You  _know_  it isn’t. I…Dick, if you’re going to attempt to eavesdrop on me you should at least find a more creative hiding spot.  
  
When Dick failed to make an appearance, Bruce took one of the multitudes of stress balls his ward had given him over the past few years out of his desk and threw it across the room. It hit the vent covering dead on with a startling bang.  
  
To his ward’s credit, the boy didn’t spook at the assault. Still, he’d already given himself away.  
  
“I know you’re there, Dick,” Bruce said. “Come out.”  
  
A moment later the vent covering popped out of place and disappeared into the vent. There was a scraping sound and then Dick flipped down, landing neatly on the carpet of the study with an unrepentant grin on his face.  
  
“Aw, come on, Bruce. I’m getting better at least, aren’t I?” the acrobat cajoled. “One of these days you won’t notice me until it’s too late.”  
  
Bruce grunted. It was true that Dick was getting better and better at stealth work. However his partner had a long way to go still. He made a note to increase the boy’s stealth training once the situation with Dick’s stray children was taken care of.  
  
Dick pouted, but brushed off the non-answer with his usual ease as he hurried up to the desk. “Anyway, now that I’m here, you can fill me in on what you found.”  
  
“I was under the impression that you were benched,” Bruce said mildly.  
  
“Dick Grayson wants to know what you found, not Robin,” Dick parried. “They’re my responsibility, Bruce.”  
  
“Oh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at his ward.  
  
The boy bristled. “Don’t be like that. This is serious. I read the files you pulled up. You,  _we_  have to do something.”  
  
“Do we?”  
  
“Damn it, Bruce.”  
  
“You’re making assumptions, Dick. We’ve talked about that.”  
  
“I’m not stupid,” Dick snapped. “Jaybird was living on the street. In Crime Alley! In a box! Anything could have happened to him! And, and if you think I’m going to let Babybird go back to that- that  _house_  you’re no detective at all.”  
  
“As I was telling Alfred,” Bruce said giving the butler a significant look. “It isn’t that simple.”  
  
“And as I was telling Master Bruce, the solution seems quite obvious to me.” Alfred countered.  
  
“Alfred’s right,” Dick said. “We need to – ”  
  
Bruce abruptly got to his feet, startling his ward into silence. With a thoughtful frown on his face, Bruce walked over to the study door and quickly swung it open, sending two little spies scrambling backwards in surprise.  
  
“Jason. Tim,” Bruce said giving the two pajama-clad boys an unreadable look even as he privately decided to check the surveillance cameras later to find out how long they’d been eaves dropping before he’d caught them. Regardless of how long they’d managed to stay hidden Bruce had to admire their initiative. Not many people let alone children would dare to even try and spy on Batman, after all.  
  
“Sorry. Sorry,” Tim began looking like he was going to be sick, but Jason cut him off even as he stepped protectively in front of the other boy.  
  
“We’re not sorry,” Jason corrected. “You’re talking about us, aren’t you?” It was an accusation.  
  
“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. “We are. Would you like to join us?”  
  
Jason frowned suspiciously up at him. “Is this a trick?”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Bruce asked.  
  
The boy looked at him incredulously. “Grownups never let kids know what’s going on,” he explained matter-of-factly. “We’re smaller than you so you get to tell us what to do. ‘Cause we can’t stop you so what we want doesn’t matter. That’s how it works.”  
  
“That’s not – ” Dick exclaimed from somewhere inside the study.  
  
Bruce ignored his ward’s outburst. “In the eyes of the law, that’s correct,” Bruce said.  
  
“Told you,” Jason said. “…So it  _is_  a trick.”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Bruce said.  
  
“Then what  _are_  you saying?” Jason demanded.  
  
“At the moment let’s leave the law out of the equation,” Bruce said. “Do you know what you want, Jason?”  
  
“What I want?” Jason repeated slowly as though he didn’t quite understand question.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Jason scowled. “Why does it matter what I want?” the boy hissed. “You said yourself it doesn’t matter. It never has so why should it matter now? Huh? You’re just gonna do whatever you’re gonna do anyway.”  
  
“You’re putting words in my mouth, Jason,” Bruce said calmly. “What matters the most here is your wellbeing. At the moment I am responsible for the both of you and as such I cannot let you go back to the streets, regardless of what you want because that would be negligent and irresponsible of me. However, your happiness is a key part of you well-being, so what you want does in fact matter. Now would you please come inside?”  
  
The boy seemed to consider his words and Bruce hoped he’d gotten through to the child. However instead of becoming more agreeable, Jason suddenly took a step backward, looking more distrustful than before. “What about the kid? You’ve said lots about me, but what about Tim? Does what he wants matter?”  
  
“Of course,” Bruce said immediately. Despite how much more complicated Tim’s situation was, Bruce knew that he could not hesitate in his response. Jason would catch the slightest indecision and call everything that followed a lie. “Tim, what do you want?”  
  
The smaller boy blinked in confusion at him from behind Jason. He looked surprised that anyone had remembered he was still there, let alone deigned to speak with him.  
  
“Sorry?” Tim said softly.  
  
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Tim,” Bruce said as gently as he could. After a moment he got down on his knees so that he could look Tim in the eyes without seeming to loom over the child. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he continued in that awkwardly gentle tone. “We just need to know what you want to happen now.”  
  
“Why?” Tim asked.  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why do you need to know?”  
  
“So we can figure out where to go from here,” Bruce explained.  
  
Tim’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “But isn’t it obvious?”  
  
Bruce blinked. He hadn’t expected that to be Tim’s response. “Tim,” he began carefully, “what’s obvious?”  
  
“You have to send me home,” Tim said simply. “I’m the Drake family heir. I need to continue my training so that I can be useful and one day take over my father’s business.”  
  
Bruce resisted the urge to frown at the words coming out of Tim’s mouth, but he could feel Alfred and Dick’s barely stifled distress from behind him and see the disbelief on Jason’s young features.  
  
Tim didn’t seem to notice the negative reaction he was getting and kept speaking. “It is not a matter of wanting. My parents need to be informed of where I am. I will go home. They will replace Ms. Cook and then they will leave. That is the adult response to this situation,” Tim explained seriously.  
  
Bruce forced himself to unclench his hands. Appearing angry at Tim would only make the situation worse.  
  
“Forget them for a moment,” Bruce said carefully. “If. If the proper  _adult_  response to this scenario was irrelevant.” Tim looked like he wanted to interrupt at that statement, but Bruce kept going. “If the only choice that mattered was yours, where would you want to be? Please, Tim. This is important.”  
  
Tim bit nervously at his lip. The action was apparently an unconscious habit because the moment the boy realized what he was doing; he abruptly released his lip and blanked his expression. The boy looked at Bruce for a long time before looking past Bruce, at something or, more likely, someone in the study for even longer. Bruce didn’t turn and follow the boy’s gaze. He didn’t need to. Instead he watched quietly as Tim considered the question with his characteristic meticulousness.  
  
After a long breathless silence, Tim tightened his grip on Jason’s shirt and stepped even closer to the older boy. “I want to go where Jason goes,” Tim said softly. “If that’s acceptable, sir.”  
  
Bruce hadn’t expected that, though perhaps he should have.  
  
“Very well,” Bruce said. “Jason, what do you want?”  
  
Jason didn’t seem to have heard the question. He was no longer even facing Bruce. Instead he was twisted around so that he could stare down at Tim in shock. “What the hell are you doing, kid?” Jason demanded.  
  
Tim immediately let go of Jason’s shirt and took a few steps back, his head bowed submissively. “Was, was that bad?” Tim asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t – If you don’t want me, I can go. Really. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I – ”  
  
Jason cursed and whirled completely around and pulled Tim into a hug. From somewhere behind him, Bruce heard a muffled scuffle, but he ignored it in favor of listening to what Jason had to say.  
  
“Idiot,” Jason snapped and then continued more kindly, “Of course I want you, Babybird. You’re my little brother. It’s just. You’re good. You can do so much better than me.”  
  
Bruce had to strain his ears to hear Tim’s barely audible, but firm response.  
  
“No. I can’t.”  
  
Jason breathed in sharply and pulled Tim even tighter against himself while Tim awkwardly clung to the front of the older boy’s shirt.  
  
“I want to stay with Tim, too,” Jason said abruptly and loudly, glaring over his shoulder at Bruce as though he expecting an argument. “I can take care of the both of us,” the boy continued, “so you can do whatever you want with us. If it isn’t right I’ll take us somewhere else.”  
  
“There’s nowhere you go that I couldn’t find you,” Bruce reminded the boy. As far as he was concerned it wasn’t a threat, it was a fact.  
  
Jason made a face. “You are  _such_  a creeper,” he said.  
  
Bruce felt his lips quirk in a half smile, but before he could respond, he felt a light tap on his back and blinked in bemusement as Dick launched himself into the air, did a flip and landed neatly behind Jason and Tim. “Come on!” Dick exclaimed, a too-wide smile on his face. “Don’t you guys wanna stay here?”  
  
Without waiting for an answer Dick pulled the still hugging younger boys into his arms and looked accusingly at Bruce from across the hall. “Bruce, you need to adopt them. I looked everything up and even printed out the papers and everything. All you need to do is – ”  
  
Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. Why was Dick so insistent on making this ordeal more complicated than it needed to be? “It’s not that simple,” Bruce said for what felt like the hundredth time that night.  
  
“You admit we have to do something, though, don’t you? They need us. Like I needed you. You can’t just – ”  
  
“Dick it isn’t your place to tell me – ”  
  
“I’m your  _partner,_  Bruce,” Dick snapped.  
  
Bruce was reminded once again how ridiculous that statement sounded coming from a ten year old child. But however ridiculous it seemed, it was in fact true. Dick was his partner.  
  
“I’m your partner,” Dick repeated. “You’ll listen to me when it’s life or death, but not now?”  
  
Bruce spared a moment to reflect on the possibility that this situation may in fact be a matter of life or death, but that didn’t change anything. “It’s not that simple.” Bruce felt like a broken record. Why was every single person in his home insisting on not listening to a word he said?  
  
“Why not?” Dick demanded with obvious frustration.  
  
“Tim has parents,” Bruce said.  
  
“Nice reveal there,” Dick countered. “We knew that. And some parents they are, anyway.”  
  
Tim and Jason were glancing nervously back and forth between the older boy still clinging to them and Bruce who was still kneeling awkwardly in the doorway.  
  
Bruce forced himself to speak calmly. “Yes and that argument will get us far in a court of law.”  
  
“You’re Bruce Wayne!” Dick said as though that one name held the answer to all of their problems. Unfortunately the world didn’t work like that.  
  
“Exactly. And Tim is the son of Janet and Jack Drake who, for all their private flaws, are on paper far better parents than Bruce Wayne could ever be. We can’t just keep him.”  
  
“ _Yes,_  we  _can,_ ” Dick said stubbornly.  
  
“Oh? So you want to be a kidnapper, then?” Bruce asked. He kept going even as Dick flinched at the implications of the question. “Shall we run away with him to another country and start anew there? Shall we give him plastic surgery and force him to live a lie? Child mutilation and mental re-programing. It’s a slippery slope, Dick. How far are you willing to go with this?”  
  
Dick flushed with a mixture of anger and desperation. “That’s  _not_  – ”  
  
“Two wrongs do not in fact make a right,” Bruce informed his ward.  
  
“You can’t make him go back there.” Dick was pleading now. Bruce hated how low that made him feel. He was a horrible guardian. Still, he wasn’t going to lie to Dick about this.  
  
“What choice do I have?” Bruce asked. “A negligence charge will never stand. Tim is not ours to keep.”  
  
“What about Jason?” Dick asked and Bruce saw Jason jerk slightly in Dick’s hold at the sound of his name, but Bruce had more important things to worry about at the moment.  
  
“I’m taking care of it,” Bruce told his ward gruffly.  
  
Unfortunately Dick did not take the reassurance well.  
  
“ _‘Take care of it’_? He’s not a case, Bruce, he’s a person. A kid like me. Are you just going to shuffle him off somewhere, like you are Tim?”  
  
“I’m not – ” Bruce snapped, but Dick didn’t even bother to listen to his retort.  
  
“Then what  _are_  you doing? Maybe you should let the rest of us in on your master plan, huh?” Dick demanded, releasing the younger boys and stalking angrily toward Bruce.  
  
Bruce stared down his ward for almost a minute before deciding it wasn’t worth the fight. He would have preferred to handle this situation more delicately, but clearly Dick was not going to cooperate. He got to his feet and walked back into the study without a word.  
  
It took a bit of shuffling, but he found the stack of papers he was looking for with little trouble and held them thoughtfully in his hands for a moment. He glanced between Alfred’s unreadable face and a Dick’s frustrated one before marching back into the hallway, past his ward and right up to the two little boys who were causing so much trouble in his house.  
  
“I’ve compiled a list of potential caretakers,” Bruce said brusquely. “I have included dossiers on the families; however I was not sure of how advanced your reading abilities are. If you are unable to read this, either Alfred or I can walk you through your option. You will have a choice, regardless of what the law has to say on the matter.”  
  
Jason’s nose wrinkled slightly, but anything the boy was planning on saying was forgotten when Tim tugged gently on Jason’s sleeve.  
  
“What’s up, kiddo?” Jason asked, giving the smaller child his undivided attention.  
  
“I can read it,” Tim said quietly.  
  
Jason blinked in surprise. “Really?”  
  
Tim nodded jerkily. “If you want, that is. I mean – ”  
  
“Great,” Jason agreed over Tim’s self-effacing rambling and turned sharply toward Bruce. He gave the papers in Bruce’s hand a suspicious look but held out an expectant hand anyway.  
  
Bruce held out the pages and Jason snatched them up as though he thought Bruce would change his mind. Then, Jason grabbed Tim’s hand and pulled him further down the hall, watching Bruce distrustfully the entire time.  
  
Once Jason felt far enough from any possible intrusion, he handed the papers over to Tim. Tim held the pages much more carefully than Jason had, as though they would shatter into a thousand pieces if he didn’t hold them just right.  
  
Jason wrapped himself around the smaller child and alternated between looking at the papers and glaring suspiciously at Bruce all while keeping up an inaudible discussion with Tim.  
  
Bruce found himself both reluctantly impressed and greatly annoyed at how good the children were at having a private discussion right in front of him. He did however understand their desire for privacy, so he turned his attention to Dick who was obviously still fuming.  
  
His ward was pacing frantically inside the study under Alfred’s watchful gaze. Every time Dick made as if to burst back into the hall and intrude on Jason and Tim’s private conference, Alfred would simply look at him and the boy would go back to pacing. Neither said anything during those interactions.  
  
Everyone was silent as they watched Tim fly through the pages with surprising speed even with the running commentary he was providing for Jason.  
  
The boy’s progress came to an abrupt halt as he came to the last page. Tim gasped in surprise and nearly dropped the papers before tightening his grip on them. Then he looked up at Bruce with wide blue eyes before looking back down at the page, eyes flashing back and forth as he read and reread the page.  
  
“What’s wrong, kid?” Jason asked loud enough for Bruce to hear him.  
  
Tim glanced up at Bruce again for a moment before whispering something in Jason’s ear. The two boys began talking very quickly, but Bruce could not make out a word they were saying.  
  
A few minutes later the boys’ whispered conference seemed to have concluded because all of Jason’s attention was focused on Bruce again. The boy’s gaze was considering, as he spoke. “What about the kid?”  
  
“I don’t’ know how,” Bruce answered honestly. “But I promise that whatever else happens I will do everything in my power to keep you together.”  
  
“Why?” Jason asked. “Why would you bother for us?”  
  
“It’s the right thing to do,” Bruce answered simply.  
  
Jason snorted and then smirked. “Fine. Where do I sign, Batdad? Best make this official before your sanity comes back and you have me tossed out with the trash.”  
  
“What?” Dick exclaimed from within the study.  
  
Bruce ignored his ward. “Unfortunately your signature is not needed to make the necessary arrangements, however I will not go back on my word. And we certainly aren’t going to toss you out with the trash.”  
  
Jason looked unsure at this statement, but anything he might have said was derailed by Dick surging out of the study and skidding to a halt besides the younger boys. “No way,” Dick muttered as he leaned over Tim’s shoulder to read the dossier on one Bruce Wayne.  
  
“Buzz off, Dickface,” Jason complained, but Dick just laughed.  
  
“We get to keep them!” Dick exclaimed. “Damn it, B, why didn’t you say we were going to all along?”  
  
“Language,” Bruce reminded his ward mildly. “And that was not the case. It was for Tim and Jason to decide, not either of us.”  
  
“Psh. Like there was any doubt as to who they would choose,” Dick argued.  
  
Bruce’s response was interrupted by a timely British cough. “I’m glad we’ve come to an acceptable agreement, Master Bruce, young sirs. It is however quite late and I suspect we are all quite over stimulated. May I suggest some hot chocolate and then bed?”  
  
“Hot chocolate. Really?” Jason asked hopefully, his eyes bright. “Wow, I haven’t had that in ages.”  
  
“You’ve never had hot chocolate until you’ve had Alfred’s,” Dick said, grinning widely as he slung an arm around Jason’s shoulders.  
  
Tim was the only one who didn’t seem excited by the news. “What’s hot chocolate?”  
  
Dick and Jason faltered in unison. “You don’t know?” Jason asked as Dick flailed in shock.  
  
“No,” Tim said. “Is that bad?”  
  
“Uh, no, no, of course not,” Dick assured the smallest boy. “It’s just milk with cocoa powder and sugar and vanilla and all sorts of Alfred secret ingredients. It’s amazing.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound very healthy,” Tim said skeptically.  
  
“It’s not supposed to be,” Dick explained.  
  
Tim frowned. “I don’t think I’m supposed to – ”  
  
“Of course you are!” Dick said adamantly.  
  
“Yeah, hot cocoa is the best,” Jason agreed. “You have to try it.”  
  
“Uh. I guess. If you guys say so,” Tim agreed reluctantly.  
  
“Perfect!” Dick said. “To the Batkitchen, Birdies!”  
  
And with that Bruce watched his ward drag the two smaller boys down the hall toward the kitchen.  
  
“Coming, sir?” Alfred asked.  
  
“I have a lot of work to do tonight, Alfred,” Bruce said, turning to go back into his study.  
  
The butler smiled faintly. “I wasn’t asking, sir.”  
  
Bruce sighed tiredly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about Tim’s parents,” he said. “I can’t just take a break.”  
  
“Sir, I do believe that the case will not have changed come morning. Keeping that in mind, may I suggest then, Master Bruce, that a little bit of rest might clear your mind?” Alfred offered pointedly. “In either case, it has been my experience that chocolate makes everything better.”  
  
Unable to keep himself from smiling at that, Bruce found himself following Alfred down to the kitchen.  
  
He would decide what to do about Tim’s parents in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, or rather the next late afternoon found Bruce in the midst of a staring contest with his phone. He knew it would take only a single call to set Jason’s adoption in motion, but was unsure of whether or not he was moving too quickly. After all, he still hadn’t figured out how to deal with Tim’s parents and he had no desire to completely ruin his future plans by moving too quickly now.  
  
He already felt that events were moving far too quickly and berated himself once again for putting his name down as an option in the list he had given the boys. He was in no way equipped to take care of either Jason or Tim. He could not anticipate their needs or deal with their respective traumas the way he could Dick’s. He knew, more or less, what Dick needed, but what insanity had come over him last night that he became convinced that he could help those children?  
  
Bruce knew quite well that he’d probably only make them worse. Of course he would. He was barely managing to take care of Dick and Dick was the most resilient child he had ever met.  
  
The billionaire sighed and rubbed tiredly at his forehead.  
  
His investigation into the boys’ lives had…endeared them to him and he had let that endearment dictate his actions. He was being selfish and irrational and that was why he’d put together that dossier on himself. At the time, all he could think of was Catherine Todd’s haunted face and the Drake’s mausoleum of a home. His hands had begun typing without his permission. He was clearly sabotaging himself.  
  
But he’d done it and he couldn’t go back on his decision now. He just hoped he wasn’t as terrible for these children as he was afraid he was going to be.  
  
Bruce found himself pushing away from his desk and getting to his feet. He could not stay in this room worrying over actions already taken any longer. He let his feet carry him out of his office and down the hall. He didn’t know how long he walked aimlessly through the halls of his ancestral home, but he was just considering going out for a breath of fresh air when he heard the sound of muffled laughter.  
  
Laughter had returned to the long silent Manor when Dick had first arrived, but the sound still caught Bruce a bit off guard, even two years later. A small smile crept onto Bruce’s face as he automatically changed his course and headed toward the sound.  
  
It didn’t take him long to track the laughter to its source. Of course not. The children weren’t trying to hide.  
  
Bruce leaned against the doorframe and gazed into the room. The boys had chosen another sitting room this time, but instead of practicing gymnastics, they were seated around the low coffee table with a sheaf of white legal paper and an array of crayons and colored pencils.  
  
“Hey, hey, aren’t you going to draw me too?” Dick demanded, leaning over into Jason’s space, a huge grin on his face.  
  
“Buzz off, Dickface,” Jason grumbled.  
  
“Oh, come on, Jaybird. Don’t be like that,” Dick cajoled hopefully.  
  
“Ugh, fine. Stop begging. It makes you look stupid,” Jason relented with scowl as he reached for the red crayon.  
  
“Awesome!” Dick shouted with joy and side tackled the younger boy.  
  
“Damn it, let go, you jerk!” Jason growled, struggling against Dick’s hold.  
  
“Never, ever!” Dick replied cheerfully.  
  
Bruce glanced away from the pair and saw with some concern that Tim had dropped his crayon. The boy was covering his mouth and shaking.  
  
Before he had quite registered what he was seeing, Bruce was already halfway across the room. And then he was kneeling beside the smallest boy and was awkwardly wondering what he thought he was doing.  
  
He tentatively placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, startling the boy into his dropping his hands and revealing the small openmouthed smile on the boy’s face. Bruce was confused. “Are you okay, Tim,” he asked quietly over the sound of Dick and Jason’s continued struggled.  
  
Tim blinked up at him and nodded shyly after a moment. “They’re funny,” the child confided softly.  
  
Bruce realized with some surprise that Tim hadn’t been upset. Rather the boy had been laughing silently. “Yes, they are,” Bruce said for lack of anything else to say.  
  
His words finally seemed to catch the attention of the older boys who both sat abruptly.  
  
“Bruce, when did you get here?” Dick asked, wide-eyed. Bruce made a mental note to up his ward’s awareness training. Regardless of how distracting his young charges were, Dick needed to be more aware of his surroundings.  
  
“Long enough,” Bruce said, withdrawing his hand from Tim’s shoulder and seating himself on the floor beside the coffee table.  
  
“Wow, you’re creepy Batdad,” Jason said before going back to his drawing in earnest.  
  
“Here, you should draw with us,” Dick said helpfully, pushing a black crayon into Bruce’s hand before handing him his own piece of blank paper.  
  
“I’m not exactly the artistic type, Dick,” Bruce said dryly. Which was true. He could draft and knew a thing or two about forensic artwork, but being handed a piece of paper and a colored implement and asked to produce something was a little beyond him.  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Dick informed him with surprising force. “Drawing is fun. Skill has absolutely nothing to do with it.”  
  
Bruce glanced at Jason who was scribbling something in red in a corner of his paper and then at Tim who had gone back to drawing and was very carefully shielding his work with his arm. The billionaire sighed; clearly he wasn’t going to have a choice in this.  
  
He glared down at the blank page in front of his though he could glare the paper into drawing itself. After a few minutes he gave up.  
  
“What exactly should I be drawing?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Anything you want,” Dick said. “That’s the idea. And if you don’t like it you can start over.”  
  
Bruce resisted the urge to tell his ward that that was the most unhelpful advice he’d ever heard, and he’d heard plenty of useless advice. He stared down the page for a little longer before taking a peek at what the children were drawing, hoping they would give him some inspiration.  
  
Tim’s work was well guarded, so instead he glances surreptitiously at the older boys’ drawings. Jason’s appeared to feature two figures with thick bodies, round heads without necks and long spindly limbs. The body of the larger figure was colored blue and the smaller one was colored green. A quick glance reconfirmed that Jason was wearing a blue shirt and Tim a green one. Jason had just finished adding in a small red-bodied figure that was hanging from what appeared to be a light fixture in the top corner of the page which he assumed was supposed to be Dick given his ward’s previous request.  
  
As he watched Jason put down the red crayon and considered his drawing seriously.  
  
“Oh, you should – ” Dick piped up only to be cut off with a shove by the younger boy.  
  
“Don’t tell me what to do, backseat drawer,” Jason grumbled before grabbing a gray crayon and hunching back over his work.  
  
Dick pouted before going to his drawing which was also in crayon. He had drawn a tree branch on which rested a nest containing three multicolor puffballs of varying size. Bruce realized with some amusement that the puffballs were meant to be birds and by extension were meant to represent Dick and the smaller boys. Bruce was about to turn back to his own paper when he spotted a black blot in the far corner of Dick’s drawing. It seemed to hover just below an empty circle that Bruce assumed had to be the moon. After a moment Bruce had to bite back a chuckle as he recognized that the blot was meant to be shaped like a bat and that it appeared to be carrying something in its claws. Probably food for those poor little birds, if Bruce had to guess.  
  
Bruce had to give his ward credit. The boy was quite determined to make sure his plan came to fruition. He was probably even planning on having Alfred put it on the refrigerator.  
  
Still, Bruce was inspired by the boys’ efforts. He set down the crayon Dick had given him and reached for a black colored pencil even as Jason snatched up the black crayon he had relinquished. Bruce set the tip of his pencil to the blank page and began to draw. He quickly lost track of time and only realized how much time had passed when the quiet chatter that had picked up again at some point swelled into a loud commotion.  
  
Bruce looked up from his drawing in time to see Tim throw his body over his drawing.  
  
“No, no, no,” the boy cried as though he was fighting for his life.  
  
Dick and Jason, who had both abandoned their drawings, hovered over the smaller boy.  
  
“Come on Babybird,” Dick was coaxing hopefully.  
  
“Leave him alone, you jerk,” Jason snapped, punching the older boy in the arm.  
  
“I just want to see,” Dick said, shaking out his arm with a pout.  
  
“No!” Tim insisted, his voice shrill with panic. “You can’t.”  
  
“But why?” Dick asked. “It’s just a drawing.”  
  
“It’s bad,” Tim said softly.  
  
Dick faltered. “That’s definitely not true,” the ten year old said, squatting down beside the youngest boy.  
  
Jason continued to hover over the others, seemingly unsure if he should be helping Dick or dragging the older boy away.  
  
“It is,” Tim insisted. “Horrible. Awful.”  
  
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Dick said seriously. “Do you, Jason? Bruce?”  
  
“Nope,” Jason agreed, apparently having chosen a side.  
  
Bruce wondered in bewilderment when this situation had gotten so out of hand and the fact that he was being dragged into this. “No, of course not,” he added in awkwardly.  
  
“See?” Dick scooted close to the smaller boy who was still laying half on the table to protect his work from prying eyes.  
  
“It’s childish,” Tim insisted. “I should be better.”  
  
“You  _are_  a kid, Timbo,” Dick said gently, obviously very upset at the direction this conversation was heading in.  
  
Tim closed his eyes and shook his head, pressing himself more firmly against the table.  
  
Bruce grimaced and decided to put an end to this before it got out of hand. “Okay, that’s enough boys,” he said looking directly at his ward as he spoke.  
  
“Bruce…” Dick began incredulously, but stopped at his guardian’s pointed batglare.  
  
“I think that’s enough drawing for today,” Bruce continued. “Why don’t you three clean up and then go play outside.”  
  
Dick cast a concerned glance at Tim before brightening. “Oh, I haven’t shown you guys the grounds yet!”  
  
The ten year-old got up, returned to where he’d been sitting and began gathering the art supplies, chattering all the while about the various parts of the grounds he loved the best. After a moment Jason followed Dick’s lead, though he was clearly more focused on Tim than the half-hearted cleanup he was doing.  
  
Tim waited for almost an entire minute before sitting back, his drawing clutched to his chest.  
  
Bruce’s stomach clenched uncomfortably at the forlorn look on the small child’s face. Before he could change his mind, he picked up his own drawing and scooted closer to the boy.  
  
“It’s not my best work,” Bruce said quietly, “In fact, it’s pretty bad. But I’d like you to have this.” He held out his drawing.  
  
Tim cautiously took the drawing and looked intently down at the pencil sketch of what was clearly supposed to be a Dick carrying Tim, with Jason tagging along beside them. However the drawing only vaguely resembled the intended subjects and only their fairly well done faces saved the drawing from being an unintelligible mess of poorly proportioned body parts.  
  
“I…like it,” Tim said.  
  
“You don’t have to lie,” Bruce assured the boy. “I’m no artist.”  
  
“No,” Tim disagreed with a frown. “I’m not lying. I. Thank you. I love it.”  
  
Bruce smiled and ignored the burn of Jason and Dick’s furtive glances as he made to turn away and lend a hand with the last of the cleanup.  
  
“I,” Tim began stopping Bruce in his tracks. “I. My, mine isn’t good. It’s, it doesn’t look right and, and it’s sloppy, but if you want, you, you could have it. Maybe? I’m sorry.”  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Bruce assured the child. “I’d love to have your drawing.”  
  
Tim looked half hopeful and half terrified as he handed over his drawing. As he took the picture, Bruce felt as though he’d gone back in time and it was he himself offering the efforts of his labors up to his parents. He remembered their delight, their praise at his scribbles. He remembered feeling so proud of himself.  
  
It was strange being on the other end of that exchange. Strange, but not bad.  
  
Bruce looked over the drawing. Depicted with great care at the top of the paper were a rather bulky black crayon Batman and a thin red crayon Robin flying through the air on thin grey crayon lines. At the very bottom of the page, were two boxy little figures with their arms raised in the air. Bruce was very impressed. Tim had obviously worked very hard on the picture.  
  
He wondered if his parents had felt this honored when it had been him in Tim’s place. He hoped so. “Excellent work, Tim,” Bruce said. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”  
  
“Really?” Tim asked, his voice very small. And Bruce knew for sure then that no one had ever said something like that to the child before.  
  
“Really,” Bruce confirmed and before he could think better of it, he awkwardly pulled the boy into a hug. “It’s perfect.”  
  
Tim stiffened at the unexpected contact before very slowly relaxing in his hold.  
  
“Thank you,” Bruce said again, unsure of what else he was meant to say in this scenario. He meant to let the boy go after that, but the child was clinging to the front of his shirt. The prospect of pulling away before Tim was ready made Bruce feel like a monster, so he clumsily hugged the child tighter.  
  
As he held Tim in his arms Bruce wondered how this scene would look to an outsider. How would the world view Brucie Wayne’s closeness to a small child? The media would have a field day about him no longer being able to contain himself to unwanted children. The Drakes would barely need to work to keep their huge advantage regardless of their clear criminal neglect of the boy…  
  
And the Drakes. What would they think of this? Their only son disappearing only to reappear at Brucie Wayne’s side. They would be thankful, publicly, at least. They’d have to be. But what would they make of Brucie’s continued interest in their son? They would be disturbed. Of course they would. They’d want to take Tim as far away from him as possible. That’s what Bruce would –  
  
Bruce’s eyes widened and it took a great amount of willpower to not jump to his feet immediately. Instead he gently pulled away from Tim and offered the boy what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’m going to go hang this in my study,” Bruce explained. “You don’t mind if I hang this up, do you?”  
  
Tim clearly didn’t understand why Bruce would hang up his picture, but the boy didn’t argue and just nodded, his eyes wide.  
  
Bruce got to his feet and left the room, Tim’s drawing held carefully in his hands. As he walked away from the sitting room he listened to the sounds of the three young voices fade into the distance.  
  
“Wow, Bruce only puts the best stuff up in his office,” Dick said loudly.  
  
“Really?” Tim asked softly.  
  
“Yup. Looks like Jaybird and I are gonna have to settle for the fridge today.”  
  
“‘S cool with me,” Jason said. “Hey, come here, kiddo.”  
  
“Jason…” Tim whined.  
  
“Oh, make room, I want a hug too!” Dick exclaimed.  
  
“Get off, Dickface.”  
  
“Never!”  
  
Bruce chuckled quietly to himself. The day suddenly seemed a lot brighter than it had before.


	8. Chapter 8

Early the next morning found Brucie Wayne smiling down at the flashing cameras and hungry faces of the attendees of his surprise press conference. Jason and Tim stood on either side of him. The boys were dressed in obviously new clothing, but while they were clean, their hair was still long and unkempt. They had clearly been living in poor conditions for quite a while. The picture was completed by Dick who stood strategically behind Tim, smiling a rueful, childish smile.  
  
“I owe so much to these two little go-getters,” Brucie reported, his tone at its most serious. Brucie Wayne was only ever serious about two things, the media knew, his parents and his ward. “Without them, my ward, Richard Grayson, might not be with us.”  
  
The crowd of reporters shouted questions and Brucie answered them with all with smile.  
  
“Oh, you know how kids are. I tell him how dangerous it is to wander off, but you know how kids are…”  
  
“Of course, WE is going to be investing in helping to make those neighborhoods safer. My Richard got lucky because of these two, but not everyone is so lucky. I know the dangers of Gotham as well as anyone else and I’m trusting Commissioner Gordon to...”  
  
“I of course offered to take these boys in. It’s the least I could do. Jason here could use a solid roof over his head, but imagine my surprise when I found out dear little Timmy already had a home, haha.” Brucie laid a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. The boy was still as a statue under his hand. “Poor little Timmy’s had a rough couple of weeks. But he’s home now.”  
  
An avid reporter took the bait. “What do you mean, Mr. Wayne?”  
  
“Why, Timmy here just happens to be the missing the son of my dear friends the Drakes,” Brucie revealed.  
  
The crowd of reporters exploded with that little comment.  
  
“The Drakes?”  
  
“The Drake boy?”  
  
“He’s alive?”  
  
“Will this impact WE’s stock?”  
  
Brucie grinned. “I wouldn’t know about that last one, but yes this is Jack’s son. Poor kid had a pretty bad bump on his head. The docs say he’s on the mend, but he was all out of sorts when we found him. Lucky for us this little tiger was taking care of him.” Brucie punctuated this comment by ruffling said child’s hair. Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t move away from Brucie.  
  
The reporters began shouting questions at the boy.  
  
“I’m real thankful to Mister Wayne taking me in, but I’d have helped Dickie anyway,” Jason said, the picture of unruly, but good kid. “Tim’s like a brother to me,” he added. “I’m glad he’s gonna see a real doc now. The ones in the clinic couldn’t help us much.”  
  
“Which is why I’m throwing a fundraiser for the free clinics of Gotham,” Brucie added. “Dr. Thompkins tells me she needs more staff and some fancy gadgets to help more people in need. So we’ll honor these kiddos with a real show.”  
  
The press conference continued for another hour as bit by bit the reporters pulled the complete story of Tim Drake from a very unhelpful Brucie Wayne. Still, eventually they managed to piece together the event of the previous evening. They heard how Dick Grayson had wandered off during a day spent at WE and had ended up getting himself in trouble. They learned how Jason Todd and Tim Drake had rescued Dick from getting kidnapped by some overzealous gang members. They listened to the heart wrenching story of what had happened to little Tim Drake after the car accident all those weeks ago. And by the end, the reporters were hailing Jason as a hero and heralding Tim Drake as a miracle case.  
  
The only question that stuck out painfully was where the Drakes were given the astonishing return of their only son.  
  
Brucie Wayne had smiled broadly at that question. “They’re abroad in Brazil from what I understand. We’re having a bit of trouble getting hold of them, shoddy connection and all. Ha ha. But we’ll see them as soon they can get back.”  
  
***  
  
The news made the front page of every single newspaper the following morning, except for one which had to push it back to the second page in favor of a natural disaster.  
  
Dick joked that they should sue that particular paper for the insult, but the jest fell flat. Everyone was too exhausted from the press conference to play along.  
  
Bruce was just thankful that Alfred had been quick enough to keep some of the less…positive articles out of sight. They couldn’t shield the boys from that sort of talk forever, but he wanted to spare them from the spiteful whispers for as long as he could.  
  
By the evening of the day after the press conference they still hadn’t heard back from the Drakes regardless of how many times both their offices and their private lines had been contacted. Bruce wasn’t exactly surprised at their lack of attentiveness, but it was disconcerting to see their neglect in effect. He knew the excuses they would give, but he knew that if he were in their place, if anything had happened to Dick, to any of his children, that if he couldn’t be out there searching, he would damn well be available at all times.  
  
The waiting was the worst part. It gave him time to doubt, to think and rethink his decisions and made him wish he could go back and redo everything. But, for better or worse, he had made his decision and he would have to endure Jason’s accusing stares, Dick’s worry, and Tim’s quiet acceptance until events had played themselves out.  
  
He had hoped that the situation with Jason’s adoption would at least have gone smoother, but although the forms with Todd’s signature had eased the way somewhat, the process was stalled when it became apparent over the next few days that Catherine Todd had fallen completely off the radar. No one, including her most recent paramour, had seen her since the night Batman had paid a visit to her apartment.  
  
Bruce remembered the look on the woman’s tearstained face as she told him to tell her son that she was dead and wondered if her disappearance was his fault. However, no matter how hard he looked, not even Batman could find her.  
  
Jason took the news of his mother’s disappearance with almost flippant disinterest. He refused to talk about her and attacked Dick several times when the other boy attempted to comfort him. Bruce might even have believed Jason’s façade if he didn’t know for a fact from the video footage in the halls of the manor that the boy had spent the last few nights wandering anxiously up and down empty hallways.  
  
Three days passed without a sign of Catherine Todd, but at least the Drakes chose that day to finally contact them.  
  
“Mr. Wayne,” Janet Drake’s voice was thin over the countless miles that separated them.  
  
“Please, call me Bruce, Janet,” Brucie gushed over the line. “We’re practically family, aren’t we?”  
  
“…Of course,” Janet said cautiously. “I’ve been informed that you found my son.”  
  
“Yes, your Timmy is quite the kid. He’s been through so much, though. Poor little guy.”  
  
Janet hummed a little disapprovingly. “That’s good to hear. We’ll be home to collect him in a few days. I’ll have my secretary forward our flight itinerary for your convenience. I apologize for burdening you with this, if you’d like I can have someone from DI come and take him off your hands.”  
  
Brucie laughed. “He’s no trouble. Quiet as a mouse, really. Don’t even know he’s there most of the time. Besides, my boy, Richard, thinks the world of your son. And my newest boy, Jason loves doting on him.”  
  
“Ah yes, the street child who saved my son’s life. You are taking him in, then?” The distaste in her voice was clear.  
  
“He saved my Richard as well; it’s the least I can do,” Brucie replied as though he hadn’t noticed her tone. “Especially after what he did for Timmy. I was so worried when I heard about the accident. Gosh, I can’t imagine how it must have felt to not know anything for so many weeks.”  
  
“It was difficult,” Janet said stiffly. “However we have coped as best we can. It will be good to have Tim back with us again.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re holding up so well,” Brucie said. “I will miss having that little go-getter around, though. Then again, you live just down the road, so I suppose he can pop by for play dates with my boys.”  
  
Janet hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. In any case I have business to attend to,” she informed him briskly before hanging up without so much as a goodbye.  
  
Bruce sighed and put down the phone slightly harder than he intended.  
  
“They didn’t even want to talk to Tim?” Dick’s asked from the doorway. He’d been there the entire time, listening intently to Bruce’s half of the conversation.  
  
“I suppose she didn’t feel it was necessary,” Bruce said, perhaps too casually if the displeasure on his ward’s face was to be believed.  
  
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Bruce?” Dick asked for the hundredth time since the night before the press conference.  
  
Bruce thought about all of his private concerns and wondered if he should tell the truth. No. Everything would work out. It had to. “Of course,” he promised. “But that’s enough of that. Didn’t you say something about wanting to show the boys a movie of some sort?”  
  
Dick brightened at that. “Oh, yeah.  **Lilo & Stitch,** Timmy’s never seen it, can you believe that? Well, I mean, I can, because his parents are horrible people, but, but still. We need to rectify that as soon as possible!”  
  
Bruce wracked his brains trying to recall which of the strange cartoons that his ward watched so raptly was being referenced here. “That’s the one with the, ah, mermaid creature, isn’t it?”  
  
The boy rolled his eyes. “No, no, Bruce. How can you be so out of touch? It’s the one about the little girl from Hawaii and her ‘blue alien dog’. Remember?”  
  
“Um, yes?” Bruce lied.  
  
Dick wrinkled his nose and gave his guardian a disbelieving look. “You’re so  _old_  B.”  
  
“We can’t all be as young and knowledgeable as you,” Bruce said good-naturedly.  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Dick grabbed Bruce hand and began pulling. “Come on Jason was getting all antsy again, we need a cuddly movie intervention!”  
  
Bruce walked at a painfully slow pace regardless of his ward’s effortful tugging on his hand.  
  
“B, come on, stop being so slow!” Dick complained.  
  
“I thought I should go easy on my old bones,” Bruce replied.  
  
Dick scoffed. “Psh. Just because you and pop culture have never so much as passed each other on the street doesn’t mean you’re actually an old man. You just act like one.”  
  
Bruce chuckled and picked up the pace.  
  
***  
  
 _“Ohana means family.”_  
  
Dick certainly knew how to say a lot without saying anything at all, Bruce thought as he and Alfred carried the three sleeping children from the movie theater up to their bedrooms long after the credits had rolled.  
  
He tucked his ward into bed and after an awkward moment of hesitation gently brushed the boy’s hair out of his face. He was…so very fond of Dick. More than ever he could no longer imagine what his life would be like without him. Bruce hated how worried Dick was about his strays. His ward shouldn’t have to worry about things like that. That was Bruce’s job.  
  
With a sigh, Bruce drew back and headed across the hall to help Alfred tuck in the younger boys.  
  
Jason and Tim shared a room even though there was plenty of room for each of them to have three rooms to themselves if they so desired. There really hadn’t been much discussion over the matter; Jason had thrown a fit their first night at the Manor at the very implication that he and Tim should be separated.  
  
 _“Family means nobody gets left behind.”_  
  
Looking down at the two children who had placed so much trust him, Bruce felt his heart ache. Jason was wrapped tightly around Tim, clinging to the smaller boy as though he feared Tim would vanish even as Tim kept burrowing deeper into the older boy’s embrace. They were both so terribly young, so incredibly small.  
  
Somehow they had found each other and stayed together despite all of the dangers they had faced. He could only imagine how close the boys had needed to be in order to survive on the streets. It made sense that they would continue to cling so closely to each other now.  
  
He felt like a monster for being the thing that would keep them apart. Somewhere along the way he had made the wrong decision; he knew it. It was a mistake to take them, to put them through this. But there was nothing he could do to change it now.  
  
 _“Nobody gets left behind.”_  
  
He sighed again.  
  
Dick certainly knew how to say a lot without saying anything at all.


	9. Chapter 9

“I can’t believe I had to find out about this from the Paparazzi,” Dr. Leslie Thompkins hissed the moment the door closed behind her.  
  
“Things have been a bit hectic,” Bruce attempted to appease her. “If you’ve heard the story, you know –”  
  
Leslie laughed harshly as she dropped her clipboard onto one of the room’s many counters with a loud clatter. “If you think I believe a word of that drivel, you have another – ”  
  
“You know I can’t – ”  
  
“I don’t care what the true story is. I doubt I’ll ever get the full story out of you, Bruce, but don’t think for a moment you can pull the wool over my eyes,” she snapped as she pulled off her latex medical gloves and tossed them neatly in a trash bin.  
  
“This isn’t about me, Leslie,” Bruce said, and glanced meaningfully at the view through the small one-way glass window in the door.  
  
The doctor followed his gaze and frowned at the sight of the three boys sitting quietly in a row on the exam table in the other room. “Of course,” she said, “but how long will it be until you make it about you? How long until they follow you on your suicidal crusade?”  
  
“They won’t,” Bruce said firmly.  
  
“You say that now,” Leslie said, “but in a few years you’ll be singing a different tune.”  
  
“What, so you think I should leave Jason to the system? Or put him back on the streets?”  
  
“If the system was better, you wouldn’t be so afraid of doing that. You’re happy treating the symptoms, but the disease remains untreated,” Leslie pointed out.  
  
“I’m doing what I can, I can’t fix Gotham’s infrastructure overnight,” Bruce said.  
  
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said coolly.  
  
“I don’t sleep at night,” Bruce said meaningfully. “You know that, Leslie. But that is a discussion for another time, don’t you think?”  
  
The doctor glanced once more through the window, into the other room. The boys had already grown tired of sitting still. Dick was walking on his hands on the floor in front of the two smaller boys while Jason threw pilfered tongue depressors at the acrobat. Tim watched the show from Jason’s side, with his hands pressed over his mouth to hide his obvious smile and his eyes crinkled in amusement.  
  
Dr. Thompkins sighed and picked up her clipboard. “For starters they’re all caught up on their immunizations now, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about for a few years.”  
  
Getting Jason to sit still for that had been an adventure and a half. Leslie had to call in three nurses to hold the boy down and but that just made the situation worse. Jason only agreed to endure the needle when Leslie quietly pointed out that he needed to brave and set a good example for Tim.  
  
It probably helped that Dick also sat through his ten year booster shots and flu vaccine fairly well despite his obvious discomfort. Jason’s pride wouldn’t let him show how scared he was in the face of Dick’s courage.  
  
Tim, on the other hand, had been more confused by the fact that Jason and Dick insisted on sitting next to him while he got his flu shot (he was already up to date on his immunizations) than upset by the needle.  
  
“It’s a shot! Aren’t you scared?” Dick had asked, wide-eyed.  
  
“Why? Being scared doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t change anything either. I’m not a baby,” Tim had explained seriously.  
  
“Yes, you are,” Jason had said with a frown. “Don’t you want me to kiss it for you?”  
  
“Kiss it? Why?” Tim had asked in obvious confusion.  
  
“My mom always kissed my shots and booboos when she was around,” Jason had explained. “It makes everything better.”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tim had said.  
  
“It isn’t supposed to, Babybird,” Dick had said sadly. “It’s a feel-y thing, not a think-y thing.”  
  
Tim’s face scrunched adorably as he tried to make sense of what Dick was telling him, but before he could ask any more questions Jason and Dick were both peppering him with kisses on his upper arm and on the crease of his elbow where Leslie has taken blood…  
  
Leslie cleared her thought pointedly, returning Bruce to the present with a start. “Aside from that, Jason’s height is in an acceptable percentile for his age, but he’s underweight for his height indicating recent substandard nourishment. That makes sense if he really has been on the street for a while.” She pulled a prescription pad out of her lab coat and began scribbling on it as she spoke. “I am…prescribing a daily regimen of…no less than three Alfred-made meals a day. I also want you to pick up a children’s multivitamin supplement. We’re still waiting for the blood work to go through, in case I’ve missed anything, but that should suffice for the moment.” She ripped the page from the pad and stuffed it into Bruce’s hand.  
  
“You’re prescribing Alfred?” Bruce asked with a chuckle.  
  
“That man is a force of nature,” Leslie said, and offered him a small smile. “I trust him with those boys’ stomachs. Jason has probably already regained a pound or so in the few days you’ve had him. He’ll be up to a healthy weight in no time. However, considering his previous circumstance, his weight may be the least of your problems.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“There are some indications in Jason’s behavior that he has suffered from at least a few incidents of abuse. Unfortunately, while I do deal with cases like his on a daily basis, I’m usually more concerned with keeping them alive than diagnosing them. I would suggest that you consider taking him to a specialist.”  
  
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Bruce said bluntly.  
  
“I know how you feel about psychologists, Bruce, but it helped Dick, didn’t it? Despite all of your misgivings?”  
  
He glowered darkly at her, but she just smiled at him.  
  
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the boy,” she said soothingly, like he was a small child throwing a tantrum. “But I think it could help him. It would help you too, if you’d just give it a chance.”  
  
“However, that is ultimately your decision. But I do hope you’ll make the right one.” Leslie glanced back down at her clipboard and her expression sobered. “Now, the other boy, Tim. His situation is much more serious. He is far too short for his age group, and his weight is barely appropriate for his height. The weight could be attributed to his time on the streets, but depressed height for age is usually considered a manifestation of the cumulative effects of chronic malnutrition. This is something I would expect to see in one of my usual patients, Bruce, not in the son of one of Gotham’s wealthier families.”  
  
“You read his medical files,” Bruce said, working to keep his voice level.  
  
Dr. Thompkins pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Yes. Your illegally begotten files. There  _are_  protocols for acquiring these thing for a reason, you know. To protect people.”  
  
“It was either this or nothing, Doctor,” Bruce said.  
  
“So, your ‘dear friends’ haven’t been very accommodating?” Leslie asked.  
  
“We only heard from them yesterday,” Bruce said, letting the Doctor draw her own conclusions.  
  
She frowned. “Their son has been missing for over a month now.”  
  
“Yes. Their priorities seem quite clear,” Bruce said with a tight smile. “They’re flying in late tomorrow evening.”  
  
She grimaced, but let the topic go as she focused back on the medical files in front of her. “It says here that Janet Drake’s obstetrician suspected that she suffered from both Antenatal and Postnatal depression, but the diagnosis was never followed up on.”  
  
“She and her husband went on a six month vacation to South Africa less than a month after Tim was born,” he added in helpfully.  
  
“Stop interrupting, Bruce,” Doctor Thompkins snapped. “The boy was diagnosed with Failure to Thrive or FTT at three weeks of age, but it’s obvious that while Tim did not die from it, not enough was done about the matter. If he was truly recovered he would be much closer to an appropriate height for his age group. He’s been checked in the past for various conditions and infections, but I’m double-checking that now.”  
  
“You think it might be a medical issue?” Bruce said incredulously. As far as he was concerned, the source of Tim’s FTT was obvious.  
  
“Failure to Thrive is often a manifestation of many complex factors. It’s not my job to make assumptions; it’s my job to treat my patient,” she said sharply. “That said, I suspect that severe emotional neglect, specifically inadequate nurturance is a key ingredient. However, quantifying the psychological damage of a failing to form secure attachments in infancy is difficult even for experts.”  
  
“What can we do for him?” he asked.  
  
“If you’re returning him to his parents, not much,” Leslie said archly.  
  
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Do you honestly think I could get custody over him?” Bruce returned.  
  
“I’ve seen this played out hundreds of times before in far more violent arenas.” She looked him in the eye as she spoke. “You wouldn’t have a chance in hell.”  
  
“Well, then what do think I can do, exactly? You’re the one who’s always telling me to obey the law,” Bruce pointed out.  
  
“And you’re the one who never listens.” She shook her head knowingly. “I know you, Bruce, you have a plan.”  
  
“That’s neither here nor there,” Bruce said. “But tell me what I can do for him regardless. Hypothetically speaking.”  
  
Leslie snorted. “Fine. Have it your way. Monitor his diet carefully and keep a record of what and how much he eats. Make sure you note any changes in his appetite. I’ll need you to bring him in every other week to evaluate his progress.  _Hypothetically speaking,_  you should also bring Jason and Dick in at the same time even though it’s medically unnecessary. It should make them all feel better.”  
  
“That’s all?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Well, we’ll have to wait for the tests to come back to see if we can do more medically,” she said as she started scribbling on her pad again. “However, regardless of what you decide to do with Jason, you need to bring Tim to a psychologist. At the very least to help him work through the trauma from the accident. That at least wasn’t fabricated, I trust. Beyond that, you need to ensure that he is provided with a stable environment in which he feels safe.”  
  
He nodded seriously as he began making plans in his head. “I’ll do my best.”  
  
Leslie smiled fondly at him as she handed him the slip of paper. “Well, at the very least you seem to have gotten a head start on that last one.”  
  
“You think so?” he asked in surprise, not quite believing his ears.  
  
“You’re doing a good job, Bruce,” the doctor said firmly.  
  
He knew by the look in her eyes that she knew he didn’t believe her.  
  
She glanced back into the office where the kids again were now making balloons out of her latex gloves before looking back at him bemusedly. “You don’t believe me. Well, at the very least you take my prescriptions seriously.”  
  
“You have another?” Bruce asked, cocking his head to the side as he reexamined the two prescription slips in his hands.  
  
“Yes, I do, Mister Wayne,” Leslie said. “Take those boys out for ice-cream for me. Doctor’s orders.”  
  
Bruce blinked and then chuckled. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”


	10. Chapter 10

The Drakes came promptly from the airport to Wayne Manor in a hired car late the next evening.  
  
Alfred led the pair into the front sitting room where Brucie greeted them with a wide, charming smile.  
  
“Jack! Janet!” he said, reaching out to shake their hands. “It’s been ages. How are you?”  
  
“Jetlagged,” Jack said with a wry smile as he returned the gesture. “And anxious to see our son.”  
  
Bruce then shook hands with Janet, taking the moment to evaluate her. She was a gorgeous woman with vibrant red hair and very intelligent ice blue eyes. He knew even as he was studying her, she was appraising him in return.  
  
“The flight wasn’t too bad?” Brucie asked as he let go of her hand. “I know how tiring all that flying can be. The last time I flew to Argentina with these two lovely – Oh, Alfred,” Brucie cut himself off, swinging to look at the butler. “Could you call the boys down here? I’m sure Timmy will be excited to see his parents.”  
  
“Of course, Master Bruce,” Alfred said dutifully before slipping out of the room.  
  
“Can I get you anything while we wait?” Brucie asked amicably, motioning toward the locked liquor cabinet. “I keep some of my favorites in here, but if nothing catches your fancy I can have Alfred get you something from the wine cellar. We have quite a selection.”  
  
Before Jack could respond with an obvious affirmative, Janet cut in with a too sharp smile. “No thank you, Mister Wayne.”  
  
“Please, call me Bruce,” Brucie said. “We’re friends aren’t we?”  
  
“Are we?” she returned coolly.  
  
Bruce allowed something of the truth to shine through his mask. “We could be,” he said. Then the mask slipped right back into place and Brucie grinned widely. “We’re practically family already,” he said jovially. “I’m so fond of little Timmy. Such a clever kid. That brain of his is a wonder, I tell you. Ha ha.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Janet said.  
  
“He’s alright?” Jack asked nervously.  
  
Janet frowned slightly. “You saw the video,” she pointed out before Bruce could answer. “He’s fine. Underweight, but a few solid meals will have him back on track. He  _is_ our son, after all. You worry too much.”  
  
“He was out there for a month,” Jack said.  
  
“Yes and he’s not anymore. As you yourself pointed out when you decided we should stay and finish that project of yours before coming back,” Janet snapped.  
  
Jack flushed in anger and Brucie chose that moment to step in with an oblivious smile. “Don’t worry. Your boy was in the best of hands. Jason kept him out of trouble from what I understand.”  
  
“And how is your adoption of the…boy going?” Janet asked, switching gears with ease.  
  
“Ah, well. It’s stalled for the moment. But we should have things cleared up by the end of the week,” Brucie said cheerfully. “Richard’s loved having two little brothers to play with. He’ll sure be down when Timmy leaves.”  
  
“He hasn’t been too much trouble?” Jack asked. “You’re a busy man after all – ”  
  
“Who? Timmy? That little go-getter? He’s no trouble at all. Quiet as a mouse, that one. But he’s a wonderful influence on Richard and Jason. They just adore him. We all do.”  
  
“Oh,” Jack said sounding surprised. “That’s, that’s good.”  
  
“What are your plans, by the way?” Brucie asked.  
  
“What?” Jack asked, not following the question.  
  
“For tomorrow,” Brucie clarified. “I’ve been getting all sorts of questions about the boys, you know. The press so does love a good story. They’ll be delighted to see us all together. We should go out, take a few pictures and then grab a quick lunch, the six of us. Ha ha. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”  
  
Jack gaped at him like a fish, but Janet just smiled. “That sounds like a lovely idea, Bruce. Where would you suggest?”  
  
Brucie grinned vacuously. “Aureole. They have the most exquisite food.”  
  
Jack coughed. “Aureole? Isn’t that a tad, ah, extravagant? Especially with the children.”  
  
“Not at all,” Brucie said. “Richard just loves their burgers. I have to agree of course, though I prefer their butter poached Maine Lobster. It’s delicious, you just have to try it. On me, of course.”  
  
“That’s very generous of you,” Jack said, looking a little dazed. Bruce guessed he was probably thinking about the fact that a meal, even lunch, at Aureole rarely cost less than a few hundred dollars.  
  
“We’re family, aren’t we?” Brucie said, holding his hands out in a welcoming gesture. “But, come! Sit. What are we doing standing around like this, eh?” He ushered the pair over to seating area of the room and took his own seat.  
  
Once seated, Janet gave him a long look. “And how has WE been, given the current state of the economy?”  
  
“Nothing more than a bit of road bump,” Brucie said. “Or that’s what my board of directors says. The economy’s been down before and it will be down again, but my parents’ company is in the best hands. And DI?”  
  
“We did some restructuring,” Jack said. “We’ll weather this storm well, I think.”  
  
“I don’t see what storms have to do with anything. Ha ha,” Brucie said. “But that’s good. Now, enough business. I don’t have the patience for it. Tell me about Brazil. I haven’t been there in ages.”  
  
Jack took the bait with ease and talked excitedly about the dig he’d been on and some of the sites they’d seen. Neither Janet nor Bruce was listening very closely, though they pretended to, quite well as they silently evaluated each other.  
  
The woman was more formidable than he’d planned for. Bruce could tell that just by looking at her, at how she carried herself. He worried for the thousandth time whether he was making the right decision and knew that regardless there was no going back at this point.  
  
At a lull in Jack’s monologue, Alfred reappeared. The boys trailed behind him, walking as close as they could to each other without touching.  
  
At the sight of the children, Jack immediately forgot whatever he’d been rambling about and jumped to his feet. “Tim,” he said as he took in the sight of son. The man hurried across the room before coming to a stop right in front of the boys. There he faltered, obviously unsure of what to do. Then he awkwardly knelt before his son. “Tim,” he said again and pulled the boy into a hug. Tim stood stiff as a board in his father’s embrace, hands at his sides for the few seconds the hug lasted.  
  
Jack pulled back and smiled nervously. “How’ve you been Timmy? Has Mister Wayne been treating you okay?”  
  
Tim nodded. “I’ve been well,” the boy said quietly. Bruce knew the boy was lying, but it was impossible to tell that from the child’s expression or tone of voice. “Mister Wayne has been an exceptional host, Dad.”  
  
“That’s good,” Jack said sounding relieved. “So you’re over that whole, living on the street thing?”  
  
Bruce saw Dick subtly pull Jason closer to himself as both boys struggled to hide their feelings about that particular question.  
  
“Yeah, Dad,” Tim said as though it was the truth.  
  
“Oh. Well. Good. Good. We were worried, son,” Jack said. An uncomfortable silence hung between father and son as Jack clearly struggled to come up with something else to say to his son. “Um. Ah, quite a scare you gave us with that little disappearing act,” he said finally. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What a mess. With the worst possible timing, of course. At the very least you’ve been on your best behavior, I hope?”  
  
“Of course, Dad,” the boy said. All of the life seemed to have gone out of Tim leaving behind a mere shell of the boy that had inhabited the manor for the past week. It worried Bruce how easily the child had slipped into this muted, obedient little creature.  
  
Bruce’s attention was drawn from the awkward scene in front of his as Janet silently stood up from her chair, elegantly brushing the wrinkles from her clothing. She walked with elegant poise across the room until she stood beside her husband, facing her son. Bruce watched as she looked the boy over and wondered what she saw.  
  
Janet bent ever slightly and placed her hand lightly on Tim’s shoulder. The boy and his mother shared a moment of silent eye-contact. “I’m glad to see you are well, Timothy. You made the best of a bad situation,” she said approvingly after a moment and withdrew her hand.  
  
“Thank you, Mother,” Tim said softly.  
  
She nodded curtly before turning her gaze on Dick and Jason. Her eyes swept over them, probably noting every hair out of place, every wrinkle in their clothing. She looked at Jason the longest.  
  
“You’re the…boy who saved my son,” she said appraisingly.  
  
Jason stiffened and raised his chin defiantly. “Yeah. I did, Lady. What of it?”  
  
Janet’s lips quirked into a tiny half smile. “Then I owe you thanks, don’t I, child?” she said.  
  
Bruce couldn’t quite believe his ears; the woman was not at all what he’d expected from his research..  
  
“I don’t need your thanks,” Jason snapped even as Dick tugged on his arm trying to get him to shut up.  
  
“You have it regardless,” Janet returned.  
  
At her side Jack clumsily got to his feet and fumbled out his own thank you to Jason.  
  
Paying little attention to her husband, Janet turned back to Bruce and smiled a too sharp smile. “Where shall we meet tomorrow?” she asked.  
  
“Outside WE at noon seems about right,” Brucie said with his own smile that belied just a hint of sharpness.  
  
“Very well,” Janet said. “Say goodbye Timothy, we’re leaving.”  
  
At her words Jason lurched out of Dick’s hold and pulled Tim into a very tight hug. Bruce was once again glad that Alfred had suggested they have a real farewell session before the Drakes arrived. He hoped that the proper sendoff would ensure that this encounter went smoothly. It was vital that Jason followed the script and didn’t act out. The longer Jason held onto Tim the more worried Bruce became, but after holding on only a minute too long, Jason reluctantly released the smaller boy.  
  
Dick jumped in for a hug of his own the moment Jason was out of the way. “Gonna miss having you around, Timmy,” Dick said as he pulled away, his wide smile a little too strained to be real.  
  
Bruce himself got to his feet and playfully ruffled Tim’s hair. “See you tomorrow, Tiger,” Brucie said fondly before turning back to Janet and Jack. “You two, as well. Don’t be strangers, ha ha.” Then he shook their hands and watched them leave, Janet leading Tim by the hand while Jack held the small knapsack Alfred had packed for the boy.  
  
Then they were gone.  
  
The house felt inexplicably emptier.  
  
“Hey, Jaybird. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” Dick’s voice felt strangely loud in the suddenly hollow manor.  
  
“I’m not worried,” Jason snapped, rubbing frantically at his eyes as he turned and ran from the room.  
  
Dick paused before running after the other boy long enough to give Bruce a baleful look.  
  
 _This is your fault,_  Dick didn’t say. He didn’t need to.  
  
Bruce wondered if he’d made a horrible mistake.


	11. Chapter 11

A word from W.E.’s PR representative had a contingent of reporters waiting for Brucie, his ward and soon to be adopted son in front of Wayne Enterprises. The trio stepped out of their limo at exactly five minutes past noon, fashionably late. Brucie made his way through the crowd, his ever present smile in place and a hand on the shoulder of each of his charges. Jason was trying very hard not to scowl at the intrusive flashes of the reporters’ cameras, but Dick made up for the other boy’s reticence with his performer’s grin.

The moment Jason was close enough to catch sight of the center of the media circus, he shrugged off Bruce’s hand and darted toward the eye of the storm. Bruce continued moving forward at a sedate pace even as he watched Jason pull a startled Tim into a hug. Cameras flashed. All eyes were focused on the boys; only Bruce saw the way Janet’s lips pursed ever so slightly and Jack’s brow furrowed in disapproval at the children’s behavior.

“Jack! Janet! Isn’t it just the loveliest day?” Brucie sidled up beside them with a welcoming grin, completely oblivious to the shouted questions of the hovering reporters.

“The loveliest,” Janet said dryly.

Brucie easily drew the pair into conversation, idly answering the odd question from the reporters that managed to penetrate his brain. Even as he guided the exchange, Bruce watched Dick join Tim and Jason out of the corner of his eye. The boys exchanged hugs and then arranged themselves in front of the adults. Their clothing was unwrinkled and their hair tidy. They looked like miniature grown-ups, but they were still very much children. The boys were too busy whispering amongst themselves to pay attention to the impromptu press conference going on around them. But the press conference was very aware of them.

The cameras kept flashing. Tomorrow’s papers would be filled with adorable pictures of the Wayne heirs and the Drake heir.

After fifteen minutes, Brucie smiled apologetically at the reporters. “Oh, wow, look at the time. We’re running late for our reservation.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Mister Wayne,” said one of the journalists. The rest of the reporters chuckled.

“Ah, but we have three growing boys here. Can’t put it off, I’m afraid.” Brucie shrugged apologetically.

The paparazzi’s steady stream of questions burgeoned into a torrent. Each reporter was shouting at the top of their lungs as they attempted to get the answer to one last question about where the Waynes and Drakes were going and what they would be eating there.

Brucie just grinned. He threw an overly friendly arm around Jack’s shoulders and led the group back to the waiting limo.

***

Lunch was a quiet affair.

Aureole’s maître d’ seated the Wayne party at her best table. Most people needed to reserve a table several weeks in advance, let alone  _that_  table. However Bruce Wayne was not most people. All it took was one of Brucie’s smiles and the wait staff was scurrying to see to the party’s every need.

Each table setting sported several different forks, knives and spoons. Atop the plates were fancifully folded cloth napkins that the boys took apart almost immediately.

Their waiter handed out gorgeous leather bound menus. Bruce opened his menu but didn’t bother to read it; he knew what he was going to order. Instead he watched as Jack and Janet pursued their menus. He saw exactly how long it took Jack to grimace at the lack of prices. Janet, on the other hand, did not flinch away from the obvious show of wealth. She took her time and when she was done she turned her gaze on Bruce. He met Janet’s assessing stare evenly over the top of his menu. After a moment he lowered the menu and giving her his best Brucie grin.

“Isn’t this place just the greatest?” Brucie said. “Do you boys know what you want? If nothing on the menu suits you, I’m sure Chef Denude will make up anything you want. Ha ha.”

“I want a burger,” Dick chirped. He hadn’t even bothered to open the menu.

“What about you, Jason?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t know.” Jason leaned over onto Tim’s seat to get a closer look at the other boy’s menu. “What are you getting, kid?”

Tim hesitated before pointing at something on the menu.

Jason made a face. “Duck? That’s gross! You can’t eat ducks.”

“I can’t?” Tim asked, wide-eyed.

“No, you can,” Dick cut in. “It’s definitely weird, but it’s way better than eating bunnies.”

“People eat rabbits?” Jason asked, horrified.

“It’s not bad,” Tim said softly.

“That’s like eating Bugs Bunny! How could you eat Bugs?” Jason demanded.

Tim frowned. “Who’s Bugs Bunny?”

Dick and Jason gasped in unison.

“You, you don’t know who Bugs Bunny is?” Dick said incredulously.

The two boys launched into simultaneous explanations of one of the few iconic cartoon characters that Bruce recognized.

“Boys!” Jack snapped in frustration as the children’s voices reached a deafening height. “Quiet down.”

Bruce’s charges stopped midsentence, but before either boy could say anything, Brucie laughed loudly. “Ah, boys will be boys, Jackie! They got a bit over excited, but they’ll keep it down now. Let them be while we talk about boring, grown-up things, eh?”

After that little hiccup, the lunch went smoothly. The kids huddled together and spoke quietly to each other. Bruce focused most of his attention on the elder Drakes, prattling on about business and travel and the charities that Brucie was currently championing. Toward the end of the meal Bruce made a point to direct the conversation toward family.

“My Richard’s got quite the head on his shoulders, you know. He came in first in the city-wide Junior Mathletes contest a few months back, even though he was the youngest there. I don’t understand a word of the stuff myself, too complex for my tastes, but wonderful all the same.”

Jack’s jaw dropped a little, but Janet didn’t miss a beat. “Mmm. Our Timothy was doing quite nicely in his schooling before his… unfortunate absence. He’s learned addition, subtraction, basic multiplication and was working on division right before this whole affair began. And he’s fluent in French as well as written Greek and Latin.”

“Oh wow, you know that makes me think of this one time in Rome - That’s where they speak Latin, right? - well there was this really lovely young thing and we… But the kids have ears you know. That’s what Alfred tells me, anyway. In any case, I’m really excited about getting Jason all settled and ready for school. I’m sure he’ll love Gotham Elementary. They’ve got quality staff there and a super athletics program which should be just up my boy’s alley, I think.”

Jack brightened a bit. “Timmy’s got quite the hand-eye coordination. He’s a chip off the old block, if you know what I mean. Mark my words; he’s going to be a football star when he hits high school. And, and um well – ”

Brucie smiled vacantly even as Jack awkwardly petered off. Janet waited patiently for her husband to finish before returning to Bruce’s previous remark. “Have you considered acquiring a tutor to get the boy up to speed? I realize his…previous education may have been somewhat lacking and I know Gotham Elementary has very high standards. If you like I can make a few recommendations.”

“That’s awfully nice of you Janet. But the school has already got me set up with a few swell folks.”

“Mmm, I’m sure they’ll be…adequate.”

Bruce’s smile thinned at the insinuation behind the word ‘adequate’. Janet met his gaze unflinchingly, her lips curled into a tiny smirk. He was struck by the sudden notion that the woman had provoked him on purpose.

If she had…and he had fallen for it…that was worrisome. The slightest misstep on his part was all it would take to shift her perceptions of him enough to ruin any chance at all of his plan succeeding. He could not screw this up. Not when Tim’s well-being was on the line. With a great deal of effort Bruce buried his indignation and fell back into his role, letting his smile loosen in a properly vacuous grin.

“Ha ha, you bet they will.” Brucie spoke loudly into the silence. “So, how about them Knights?”

“It looks like we’ll be going to the playoffs if their past few games are anything to go by,” Jack said with renewed enthusiasm.

“If they go all the way this year, I plan on taking the boys to the championship game. Box tickets and everything. You two should come and bring Timmers along. My treat!”

“Wow that’s very generous of you, Bruce. But I’m not sure we’ll be able to – ”

A loud ringing sound cut Jack off. The man smiled apologetically and pulled out his cell phone. “Drake Industries, Jack Drake speaking,” the man answered.

There was a pause while Jack listened to whoever was on the other end. He frowned and started nodding his head. “Yes. Yes. No, it’s no problem. You’re not interrupting anything that can’t be rescheduled. We’ll be there in less than an hour and we’ll sort this mess out…Yes, that’s fine.”

Jack hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, Bruce. There’s been an emergency at the office. We’re going to have to cut out a bit early.”

Bruce’s hands tightened into fists beneath the table. This was too soon. He had counted on having the Drakes around longer. There were still things he needed to say to them. “Not as sorry as I am,” he managed to say. “You’re going to miss dessert. That’s the best part of every meal, you know. And Aureole’s chocolate mousse cake is simply to die for.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack said. “But my hands are tied. Anyway, thanks for having us. It’s been a real pleasure.” He reached out a hand for Brucie to shake.

“The pleasure is mine. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” Bruce hesitated long enough to relax his hands before taking the proffered hand.

Jack nodded and turned to his wife. “Honey, I’m going to go call a car. I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

That was all the warning the man gave before he strode out of the restaurant, phone already pressed to his ear.

“I apologize for my husband’s abruptness,” Janet said, drawing Bruce’s attention away from the doorway that Jack had already disappeared through.

“It’s no trouble. I just hate to see you go. And the kids are sure to be bummed.” Brucie glanced meaningfully over at the boys who had broken off their conversation. The three children were clearly holding hands under the table as they watched the interplay between the adults.

“They’ll cope,” Janet said. “Timothy, we’re leaving. Say your goodbyes.”

Dick and Jason pulled Tim into a slightly panicked group hug. Fortunately they remembered Bruce’s warnings well enough that they let Tim go after a reasonable amount of time. Upon his reluctant release from the older boys’ grasp, Tim smiled hesitantly up at Bruce. “Goodbye Mister Wayne. Thank you for lunch.”

“I’m glad you could come. Goodbye, Tim,” Bruce said, unable to give a properly Brucie pleasantry. “We’ll miss you.”

Tim nodded, his face blank, and walked to his mother’s side. She took his hand in hers, and the two left the restaurant as well as Bruce’s sphere of influence.

When Janet and Tim were out of sight, Bruce turned back to his children to find them staring back at him. He gave them a warning look to prevent them from bringing up topics best discussed within the privacy of the mansion.

Brucie ordered dessert for his remaining party members and watched the boys pretend to enjoy the sweet treats. Bruce knew how they felt. He hadn’t planned for the possibility of the Drakes running off before he had finished feeling them out better. Jack was transparent, but Janet…Bruce had no idea where he stood with that woman.

And they had just run off to work with Tim in tow. What would they even do with him? They couldn’t have found another nanny yet, could they? Would they just take him to work and leave him to sit quietly in an empty office or waiting room?

Bruce cursed himself. He should have offered to watch Tim before they ran off. But no, that might give the Drakes the wrong idea. He had to be careful with them. One wrong move and…

There was nothing he could do now. He had set things up as best he could. Anything else he did at this point might ruin everything.

They would just have to wait and see.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a huge thanks to tigrislupa and foxfireflamequeen on tumblr for beta-ing! Without them this chapter might not have been completed given how much trouble I've had with it.

Paperwork and endless phone calls kept Bruce busy enough over the next few days that he was completely blindsided when shit hit the fan.

A loud crash brought him back to reality.

Bruce tensed and wondered if someone was attacking the manor, but no. None of the external alarms had been triggered. That didn’t necessarily mean that his home wasn’t under attack, but the noise had definitely come from inside. Had an intruder made it past the manor’s security? Were his boys okay?

He took a steadying breath and got to his feet. Moving quickly and calmly, he left the study and followed the sound of a second crash down the hall. It didn’t take him long to find the source of the noise. The sound of yelling helped quite a bit.

Although he listened carefully, he could only make out Dick and Jason’s voices. No one else’s. That meant the probability of an intruder was somewhat lower. Some of the building tension slipped off his shoulders at this realization even as he continued walking toward them. The closer he got closer, though, the more words he began to make out. What he heard spurred him into a run.

“…just leave me alone. I _hate_ you. Go away you stupid bastard!”

That was Jason.

“Jaybird, calm down,” Dick pleaded as Bruce burst into the room.

Bruce took in the scene before him with trained eyes. The shattered pieces of an expensive, antique, porcelain vase littering the floor evidenced the source of the first crash. Some of the furniture had been pushed out of place. One of the oversized chairs was lying on its side and quite a few baubles had fallen to the ground. In the center of the room stood his boys.

Jason’s face was flushed a blotchy red, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. His hands were balled into fists at his sides as he continued to shout a string of obscenities at Dick, who was bouncing with anxious agitation halfway across the room from the smaller boy.

Dick glanced away from Jason and caught sight of his guardian. “Bruce!” he exclaimed.

Jason jumped in surprise and whirled toward the doorway.

Bruce floundered. He’d never had to deal with something like this before. Dick had broken things and made messes especially when he first arrived at the manor, but those incidents had not carried such a charged and fearful air to them. He knew that the vase had been broken, probably by Jason based on the presumed trajectory of the vase from its original position and where Jason was standing. Beyond the facts of the situation, Bruce had no idea what the boys were fighting about. Or what he should do about it. “Boys, what happened?”

Tension seemed to bleed from the young acrobat at those words, but if anything Jason became even more agitated.

“Stupid asshole wouldn’t fucking back off!” Jason snapped. “That’s what happened. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Language, Jason,” Bruce rebuked the boy almost without thinking; he was far more concerned with trying to figure out how to fix whatever had gone wrong. He did not expect Jason’s response to his words.

Jason took a deep breath. “Fuck you!” he yelled. “Fuck you, fuck you! You’re not my mom and you don’t get to tell me what to do!”

Bruce tried not to wince. He hadn’t meant to – he wasn’t – why had Jason taken his words that way? It didn’t matter. He needed calm Jason down. Cautiously, Bruce took a few steps into the room. “Jason, I know I’m not your mom. We’re doing everything we can to find her. Please calm down, you’re not helping – ”

The boy was practically shaking. “No! You can’t make me! You can’t!”

“Shouting isn’t going to solve anything.” Bruce tried to keep his tone reasonable and relatively even, like he was talking to a hysterical victim. He knew how to deal with victims. But Jason…Jason wasn’t a victim, or at least he wasn’t a recent victim. This wild and desperate anger was completely random and utterly baffling. Bruce had no idea what to say, but he knew it had to be something. “Now please _calmly_ tell me what’s going on.”

“What’s it look like?” Jason asked snidely.

“It _looks_ like a fight,” Bruce said seriously. “But I hope I’m wrong. I thought you both knew better. Dick certainly does.”

“Bruce, I wasn’t –” Dick began, but Bruce didn’t let him finish.

“I’m talking to Jason, Dick.”

Jason scowled. “You know what? Fine. Big Bird couldn’t keep his big nose out of my business. And so I threw things at him.” Every word was an attack. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I’m a good-for-nothing kid and I can’t be trusted! So… so why don’t you just get rid of me?” the boy demanded furiously.

 “Jason, no. That’s not…” Bruce struggled to find the words to express that getting rid of Jason was the last thing he wanted. But the boy didn’t give him time.

“Leave me alone!” Jason shouted as he dodged around Bruce before running out of the room, leaving Bruce and his ward in awkward silence.

***

That was the first warning sign, but it was certainly not the last.

Jason became increasingly volatile, and nothing Bruce did seemed to make it any better. If anything, everything he said just seemed to make Jason angrier.

Two days after the first tantrum he came upon Dick and Jason actually throwing punches at each other in the blue parlor.

Or rather, Jason was throwing punches. Dick was dodging and trying to talk Jason down. Dick’s easy evasiveness just seemed to be egging Jason on though.

“What on earth is going on in here?” Bruce demanded.

The boys sprang apart.

“Bruce!” Dick cried in surprise. He had been so busy ducking he hadn’t noticed Bruce’s entrance. Hmm, they would need to alter the boy’s training regime to focus on situational awareness again. “Hey. What’s up? Jason and I were just horsing around a bit.” Bruce noted the transparent attempt to protect Jason from getting into further trouble.  

“This doesn’t look like horsing around,” Bruce noted dryly.

“Cause it isn’t,” Jason muttered, crossing his arms sullenly.

“Jason!”

“For God’s sake, fuck off, Dick!”

“Jason, that’s _enough_ ,” Batman growled.

Jason’s face flushed and his face contorted as he yelled, “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Dick slowly reached out toward Jason, perhaps to lay a comforting hand on the younger boy’s arm. Jason whirled to face him. “Don’t touch me!” he snarled and swatted Dick’s hand away. Then he shoved Dick with both hands, sending Dick stumbling backward.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said softly, his eyes wide and sad.

Bruce frowned. This had gone on long enough. He stepped forward, intent on… he didn’t know. Something. At least he could separate them. Or shake some sense into Jason.

But the moment he was close enough to actually do something beyond stand there like an idiot, Jason flinched away from him, raising his small hands to cover his suddenly terrified face.

Bruce froze.

“Jason, I would never hurt you,” he said reassuringly. The words felt hollow in his mouth. He was a terrible parent. How could he have screwed up so quickly?

The boy burst into tears. “I hate you, I _hate_ you, I hate _you_!” The words started as nothing more than a whisper but got louder with each repetition until the he was shouting. Then he ran out of the room.

Bruce wondered if he should follow, but quickly decided against it. His presence would only make things worse. Lord, what could he have done differently? Bruce ran that thought through his mind as he absent-mindedly patted a strangely quiet Dick on the shoulder and went to find Alfred.

***

Alfred recommended talking to the boy. And Bruce tried. He really did. But he didn’t know what to say.

Each time he spoke to Jason the boy either started yelling or crying.

There was nothing Bruce could do, not for Jason and not for Tim. Tim’s problems needed time to sort themselves out. But Jason…? Bruce had not planned for these outbursts, and he didn’t know how to deal with them. If he didn’t do _something_ , he would never be made Jason’s permanent guardian.

That was why he tried to get Jason started on his tutoring. He had hoped that the lessons would prove a distraction at least and perhaps even be fun for the boy. That had been one of his biggest mistakes. Rather than calming the boy and giving him something to focus on besides his missing mother and Tim’s absence, the lesson seemed to push Jason over the edge.

Barely half an hour into the first lesson, the tutor ran out of the parlor in tears. Meanwhile, Jason disappeared. Security footage showed that the boy had climbed out the window of the first floor room. The boy remained outside for the rest of the day, only slinking in once everyone else had apparently gone to bed. The next morning Jason showed up to breakfast, but threw a tantrum at the table, upending his bowl of oatmeal onto Dick’s head.

Feeling frayed and worn by the constant tension in his home, Bruce finally snapped and shouted at the boy. He regretted that moment of weakness even more than the tutor.

Jason hid for the rest of that day, too.

The day after that Jason broke one of the hall mirrors and nearly cut himself on the broken glass.

That evening, after yet another tantrum the boy was hiding on top of an antique armoire in one of the spare bedrooms.  Unfortunately the wardrobe had recently been emptied by Alfred who had begun cleaning it out the previous day. Jason dozed off on top of the armoire, but was startled awake by the sound of the doors of his hiding place being opened. In his surprise, the boy flailed and sent the wardrobe tumbling forward. It was only Alfred’s lightning fast instincts that saved both the man and the child, the butler somehow managing to leap out of the way and catch Jason at the same time.

Though neither had been seriously hurt and even though he knew it had been an accident, the incident was almost too much to bear. Watching that footage again and again on his computer, Bruce could not stop thinking about what might have happened if Alfred had been a little too slow. The thought made his heart ache with worry.

It was now or never, he needed to take extreme measures if he had any hope of fixing this.

***

Bruce found Alfred in the kitchen, attempting to ply Dick with fresh cookies just recently out of the oven.

It didn’t seem to be working very well. The young acrobat looked wilted, slumped dejectedly at the counter. He barely paid any attention to the cookies.

Bruce frowned. He hadn’t realized how badly the situation with Jason was affecting Dick. He should have realized. Jason’s tantrums were a strain on Bruce; it was no surprise that Dick too would be upset on his stray’s behalf. Bruce took a deep breath and nodded gravely to himself.

Whatever Alfred and Dick were talking about, they quieted when they caught sight of Bruce lurking at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Dick, can I have some time with Alfred? We need to discuss some important business.”

Normally Dick would have argued. He hated being left out of interesting conversations. Instead the boy just shrugged, got to his feet and wandered off without so much as a backward glance or skip in his step.

Bruce frowned at his ward’s retreating back, but set aside his concerns. Jason needed to be his priority right now. “I don’t know what to do, Alfred,” he said, slipping into his ward’s recently vacated seat at the counter.

“You’re ready to admit defeat?” Alfred raised an eyebrow at him as he offered Bruce a cookie.

Bruce waved the offering away. He considered the butler’s question. He didn’t like the word defeat. “I’m not giving up,” he said, then sighed. It pained him to say the words even to Alfred. He said them anyway. “But I need advice. What should I do?”

Alfred was silent for a long time before finally admitting, “I do not know.” Bruce didn’t think he’d ever heard those words from his old friend’s mouth. “It appears we may be out of our depth,” Alfred said.

Bruce snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

Alfred took a tin out of one of the tall cabinets and began placing the now cool cookies inside of it. After he had placed two rows of cookies he asked casually, “How is the plan progressing?”

It took him a moment to understand that Alfred was referring to the plan to rescue Tim. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t he have enough on his plate? No, that was unfair. Tim’s situation and Jason’s uncontrollable behavior were tightly linked. Unfortunately, the only thing they could do for Tim was wait. “You know as much as I do,” he said tiredly.

Alfred frowned. “Something must be done and soon, for the sake of both of those boys. It’s only a matter of time before someone from CPS comes to see how Master Jason is getting along here.”

“I know.”

“I think you also know what to do.”

“I really don’t,” Bruce protested, hunching his shoulders slightly under Alfred stern gaze.

“But you do know who to ask.”

“I asked you, didn’t I?”

“This is not my area of expertise, believe it or not,” Alfred said wryly as he finished placing the last row of cookies in the tin and closed the tin.

“I didn’t think there was anything outside of your expertise.” The words were said jokingly, but Bruce believed them. Alfred knew everything.

“Be that as it may, you may find it more helpful to talk to a professional. You do have Doctor Singh’s phone number.”

Bruce’s stomach sank.

“I don’t want to ask her,” he said. He wasn’t whining. He was too old to whine.

Alfred pursed his lips and gave the man he raised a stern look. “Are you really going to let your pride prevent you from doing everything in your power to help that boy?” he asked.

Bruce had known what Alfred would advise even before the question was asked. It didn’t mean he liked the answer any better for having it confirmed. Still, Alfred was right. Alfred was _always_ right. And Bruce would do what he had to do.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a huge thanks to foxfireflamequeen on tumblr for beta-ing! Without them this chapter might not have been completed given how much trouble I've had with it.
> 
> Also, it was brought to my attention that I accidentally double posted chapter 12. I have fixed that. Chapter 13 should have new content!

Bruce took a deep breath. “Help,” he said into the receiver of his phone.

“I’m sorry,” came the reply, in a nondescript RP accent. “Who is this?”

He scowled. She knew exactly who he was. Biting back the Batman growl that wanted to escape his throat, Bruce said, “Doctor, _please._ ”

A soft sigh filtered down the line. “Mr. Wayne,” the voice conceded. “What seems to be the trouble? Is Dick okay? We can go back to having appointments twice or even four times a month if – ”

“No.” His answer was abrupt. Dick was upset right now, but they all were. He needed to deal with the root of the problem. Once he did that, everything would work out.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Dick is doing well.” He took another deep breath. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

“Mr. Wayne, my television viewing habits are neither relevant to this discussion nor any of your business,” she said sharply.

Bruce refrained from gritting his teeth in frustration. “But current events are both,” he pointed out as reasonably as he could.

“You know as well as I do that the news networks are hardly a reliable resource. Why don’t you tell me about your troubles in your own words.” It was not a question.

Bruce bristled. He had harbored a healthy suspicion of Dr. Singh from the moment he had walked Dick into her office two years ago. Leslie’s glowing recommendations and absurdly clean background checks had not assuaged his worry. Dick, of course, loved her. And Bruce had to admit that she’d worked wonders as she helped Dick work through his grief over his parents’ deaths.

But Bruce could barely stand her. Every moment he was in her presence he felt as if she was stripping him down to his core, cutting past every protective layer he’d spent a lifetime constructing. He always felt as if she could see right through him. But the worst part was that every time he caved and asked for help in learning to parent, she was always one hundred percent right. _That_ was infuriating. 

Still, as much as it pained him to admit it, he once again needed her help. And doing this right was more important than his pride.

“I was asking about current events because I did not want to waste your time with exposition,” he said dryly. “Dick was recently saved by a young street urchin named Jason Todd.”

“What exactly was Dick doing that he needed saving?”

“He wandered off on his own,” Bruce began and then repeated the story he had fed the press. From there he launched directly into explaining Jason and Tim’s friendship and their current separation, hoping to distract the Doctor from picking apart the flaws in their cover story.

Finally he got to the reason he was calling. “Since the Drakes took Tim home, Jason has been getting out of control. He’s been throwing these horrible tantrums. He’s broken priceless family heirlooms and says horrible things to Alfred, Dick and myself. He won’t listen to reason and the smallest thing can set him off. I’ve tried cajoling and talking and even yelling, but it doesn’t help. The tantrums have been getting worse by the day. What should I do, Doctor?” The words came out in a rush. Bruce hoped he didn’t sound too desperate, but knew there was little chance that Doctor Singh couldn’t see how badly he was faltering in his duties.

“You should bring him in for counseling,” she said bluntly, thankfully choosing not to question the cover story too deeply or reprimand him for his lack of parenting ability. She was maddeningly good about that, no matter how often he kept expecting otherwise.

“I already promised Leslie I would, but I’m holding off until he’s adopted.” It was the practical thing to do, after all.

“Stubborn fool,” Dr. Singh said mildly. “Fine. The first thing you can do to help everyone in your household is to understand that Jason is not Dick.”

Bruce frowned. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“No. Clearly, it’s not. And the fact that you don’t understand that is a problem. Dick is remarkably well-adjusted for a child in his position. He came to you from a happy if unusual home and that shows. Jason has lived in terrible conditions with inconsistent supervision and poor role models which has forced him to become incredibly self-reliant. Of course, this is only taking into account their home lives. Personality is also a factor.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that while you should love them both equally, you need to understand that you will probably need to parent them differently. What has worked with Dick may not work with Jason. And vice versa.”

That…made sense.

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement.

“Secondly, it seems to me that Jason is testing you. It’s normal for children to test their boundaries, especially in a situation like Jason’s. Think about how you would feel in his place, Mr. Wayne. He’s trying to figure out where he stands in the new world he’s been thrown into. You can help him most by setting and maintaining very firm limits for him. Children need stability, Mr. Wayne, and your Jason seems likely to have seen very little of that before.”

Bruce considered her suggestion doubtfully. “I don’t see what this has to do with the tantrums. He’s upset about Tim not being here, isn’t he?”

“That’s true. But Tim is not the whole story,” she admonished with exasperating gentleness. “You said that Jason has been caring for Tim for quite some time, correct? It seems to me that Jason feels a great deal of pride in his ability to take care of Tim. Without Tim to protect, Jason’s sense of self has been unbalanced. On top of that, he has no idea what will happen to him now and that’s a terrifying place to be for anyone, let alone an eight year old boy. Whether or not he’s aware of that insecurity doesn’t make it any less real.”

Bruce sighed and rolled her words around in his head. Now that she had pointed it out he could see what he had missed in Jason’s behavior. The boy was afraid. Not just for Tim, but also for himself. “What should I do?” he asked.

“Bring him in for therapy,” she said simply.

“I meant in the short term,” Bruce growled, voice dipping dangerously close to Batman territory. “If CPS visits us now we’ll lose him for certain.”

“Hmm…”

“Please?” he ground out the word. It wasn’t begging. Not really.

She sighed. “There’s no magic bullet for this Mr. Wayne. But… if you want to stop the tantrums, your best bet is to provide immediate consequences for the bad behavior.”

“What kind of consequences?” Bruce thought again about aborted plans to spank the boy or send him to bed without dinner. He’d never been able to go through with them, not knowing what he did about Jason’s experiences with actually going hungry and actually being hurt by the adults around him.

“Sending him away from the group for a time out the moment he begins acting up would do the trick. Alternatively, you, Alfred and Dick will need to leave the room the moment he begins acting up.”

“And?”

“That’s the essential core of it.”

“That’s all?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. You see, Mr. Wayne, the best way to end this type of behavior is to take away the audience. Talking, yelling, spanking…all of those methods simply reward the bad behavior with more attention. Think of it this way, spending time with the rest of the family is a privilege. You are giving your time to one another and that’s a gift. When Jason throws a tantrum, he is abusing that privilege. Logically, the most fitting punishment is that he should lose access to that privilege, rather than something irrelevant like dessert or time on the computer. Do you understand what I’m saying Bruce?”

She used his first name. This was serious.

Bruce leaned back in his chair and considered her words. Just…leave Jason alone? Could they really do that? Would it work? He was dubious that such a little thing could make any difference. But…it was certainly worth a try, wasn’t it? Better than anything else he could think of, anyway.

After a long minute he began nodding to himself. “I do. I think I can do that.”

“Good. By the way, there is one more thing you can do to help the boy. However, it will be tough for you because it will impinge on your emotionless façade and require you to exercise your weakened ability for genuine communication,” she said dryly.

“Ha ha,” Bruce said flatly.

She laughed lightly. “I know you’ll rise to the challenge, Mr. Wayne.” Then she was all seriousness again. “And the challenge is this: you need to talk to Jason about this new rule. I also highly suggest that you write a contract outlining how the rule will operate and have everyone in the family sign it.”

This was absurd, but he was too desperate to ignore the idea. “What on earth would I put in this so-called contract?”

“Whatever works.  It doesn’t have to be complicated, just describe the situation and what everyone is agreeing to.”

“And how exactly would I get Jason to agree to this?”

“I don’t think it will be as difficult as you think. Jason likely thinks he wants to be alone anyway, so he will be all too happy go along with this if you approach it in the right way. The most important thing is that you be respectful of him and his feelings. Let him know that you’re there if he wants to talk to you in an appropriate way and leave him alone if he cannot.”

Bruce snorted. “I can’t get a word in edgewise. How am I supposed to even start this thing?”

The Doctor’s voice softened from her normal strict tones. “I know it’s hard, Bruce. Just keep trying. For as…hmm, difficult a person as you are, you are a good father. I believe you’ll be able to reach him.”

He was so startled by this admission that he almost dropped the phone. “I…Thank you, Doctor.”

“There’s no need to thank me for doing my job, Mr. Wayne,” she said, her voice once again formal. “However, I really must stress that you don’t forget about Dick while all of this is happening.”

Bruce frowned at the non sequitur. “Dick’s fine.”

“Is he?”

“Dr. Singh…”

Another sigh. “So stubborn,” she tutted. “Right. I have an appointment, Mr. Wayne. You know where to reach me if you need another lifeline to keep you above water. Once things have settled down remember to call my secretary and arrange appointments for Mr. Todd and Mr. Drake. Goodbye.”

With that the line went dead, leaving Bruce to stare bemusedly at his phone. He hadn’t once mentioned his intention to acquire Tim. He shook his head. That damned woman knew far too much for her own good. If only he knew how she did it.

***

Bruce’s decision to listen to Dr. Singh’s advice was all well and good, but implementing it was a daunting task. He had never been particularly good at expressing himself with words and this was a task that required a great deal of skill in that area. A large part of him wanted to dump the situation on Alfred. But no, as out of his depth as he was, Bruce knew that Jason was his responsibility.

Despite his resolve, Bruce dithered in his study for an hour. He split that time between mentally rehearsing what he would say and sketching out the beginnings of the contract Dr. Singh had suggested.

Once he could no longer come up with plausible justifications for his dillydallying, he went to find Jason.

The boy was sulking in the garden, concealed by a few artful bushes and the trunk of a large, old oak tree.

Bruce carefully stepped on a twig when he was still a few feet away. Jason’s head shot up to glare at the intruder even as he scrubbed the backs of his hands over his eyes.

“What do you want?” the child snapped, his voice scratchy.

Bruce slowed to a stop, but hesitated to speak.

Jason glared at him with reddened eyes. He’d been crying.

Limits. Dr. Singh had insisted that children needed limits to feel safe. Was that really why Jason had been acting like this? Why he was crying out here in the garden the way Bruce had after his parents’ deaths?

“I just want to talk,” Bruce said finally.

The boy sniffed. “W-why would you want to talk to me?”

The truth slipped out before he could overthink his words. “Because I care about you.”

Jason looked surprised for a moment, and then he scowled. “Yeah, well. Who says I care about you back, huh? Why should <i> _I </i>_ talk with you?”

Bruce shrugged. “I wouldn’t presume to know how you feel, Jason. And if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to. But if you do, I’m here. I’ll listen.” Slowly he moved a bit to the right so that he had an unobstructed view of Jason and then he sat down on the ground. His dress pants would get dirty, but he didn’t care. Batman had done worse to his clothing in the course of an investigation. If they couldn’t be cleaned when this was over he’d just get new ones.

“No you won’t,” Jason said after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

“I won’t?”

“Grownups never listen,” Jason grumbled. Bruce was just thankful that the boy was off guard enough that he hadn’t already worked himself up into another tantrum.

“I’m not most grownups,” Bruce said as he slowly placed both of his hands palms down on his knees so that Jason could see where they were at all times.

Jason fidgeted. “No. You’re worse. You’re so sure you’re right, but what do you know about anything? It’s been over a week and we haven’t heard anything from Tim. But all you’ll say is that we’ve got to wait.” Jason’s face flushed and his voice rose. “I’m sick of waiting!”

_That_  was definitely the spark of a tantrum starting up.

Thinking quickly, Bruce said, “You’re right.”

Jason blinked and his steadily growing rage faltered. “I am?”

How often had an adult ever acknowledged that Jason was right about anything? Bruce smiled grimly. Probably never. “Yes. You know yourself and Tim far better than I do. I don’t understand this situation the way you do.”

Puffing a bit, Jason said, “Of course you don’t.”

“I’d like to learn, though.”

“You would?” he asked, leaning forward, brows furrowed skeptically.

“Yes. If you want to tell me about your concerns, I’ll listen and I’ll try to help.”

Jason hunched back against the trunk of the old oak tree and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m telling the truth, Jason, but there is one condition.”

“I knew it!” the boy said triumphantly, balling one hand into a fist and slamming it into his other hand. “There’s always a catch. Well, come on, what is it? What do you want?”

“The ‘catch’ is simple; I can only listen if you talk to me, Jason. If you can talk to me in a reasonable…ah, indoor voice and not yell or curse or throw things, then I will listen to whatever you want to tell me,” Bruce explained.

Jason stared openly at him in silence for a few moments. Bruce could almost see the gears turning in the boy’s mind. “Well, well…What if I _want_  to scream and yell and break stuff, huh?”

“That’s fine.”

“It is?”

“Of course.”

Jason stared at him again, those mental gears spinning away trying vainly to fit Bruce into the world order that Jason knew so well. “You’re not a very good grownup, are you?” Jason said finally.

Bruce had not expected that sort of response. “I’m not?” He almost felt offended. He was working very hard on being a good adult.

“You’re not supposed to _tell_  me I can be bad,” Jason informed him.

That was all the reminder Bruce needed that maybe he didn’t want to be what Jason considered a “good grownup”. He scrambled for some of Doctor Singh’s plentiful advice about respecting children’s ability to make decisions. “Whether or not you behave well is your decision, Jason. I will do my best to respect your decisions in this area. After all, if you throw a tantrum it means you’re mad and want to be left alone, doesn’t it?”

Jason scowled suspiciously. “So what if it does?”

Bruce had rehearsed this part. “Then it’s fine. I’ll even let Dick and Alfred know not to bother you when you’re mad. We understand that you need your space, Jason. We also want you to feel safe here. If you feel so unhappy that you need to throw a tantrum, you’re clearly not feeling very safe in our home. In those cases, we’ll give you some space until you decide that you want to spend time with us. Does that seem fair?”

The boy frowned as he turned Bruce’s words around in his head. “I…I guess that sounds fair. You’ll really leave me alone?”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “If you want we can even sign a formal agreement. Alfred can help us write it up and the whole family will sign it.

“How do I know you’re not lying? Or that you won’t go back on your word later?”

Bruce resisted the urge to move closer to Jason. He did not want Jason to feel threatened now, not when they were so close to a breakthrough. Instead he slowly moved his right hand from his knee and placed it over his heart. “I swear on my parents’ graves that I will not go back on my word to you, Jason Todd. I will uphold our agreement and…” He hesitated. He didn’t want to make promises he was not sure he could keep, but the plan was sound and if it would help Jason...he needed to say it. “I promise I will bring Tim home.”

His words seemed to echo in their small corner of the garden.

Jason’s face was unreadable for a long time. Then he nodded ever so slightly and muttered, “Fine.”

Bruce smiled. Tentatively Jason smiled back.

Then the moment was ruined by an angry rumble from Jason’s stomach.

Bruce bit down on a rising laugh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How about we go see what Alfred can fix up for a nice late lunch? We can set up the contract over food.”

No matter how angry or scared or distracted he might be, Bruce had never seen Jason turn away food. This time was no exception. Jason leapt to his feet and dashed toward the house. “Hurry up, BatDad!” the boy called from the door to the house. “You’ve got a promise to keep!”

Chuckling Bruce got to his feet and followed behind at a more leisurely pace. Perhaps there was hope for their dysfunctional family yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've honestly lost my inspiration for this fic, especially since I've fallen out of the YJ fandom. However, I am going to do my best to finish it off, even though I'm not 100% happy with it and parts of it may not be as polished as I'd like.


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